


The Cannon

by FireWolf121, LangstonHugeD



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Cannon, Cayde-6 - Freeform, Crucible (Destiny), Destiny, Destinytober (Destiny), Gaslighting, Gen, Ghost & Guardian-centric (Destiny), Human Shaxx (Destiny), Humor, Hunter Guardian (Destiny), Misanthopic guardian, Named Ghost (Destiny), Never Meet Your Heroes, Other, Parental Zavala (Destiny), Parody, The Guardian - Freeform, Warlock Guardian (Destiny), official cannon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28986972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireWolf121/pseuds/FireWolf121, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LangstonHugeD/pseuds/LangstonHugeD
Summary: This is the official Destiny cannon. Whatever your OC does is within this universe. Whatever weird fanfiction you've read and is out there is retconned. This is the truth, all else is a lie. Bungie approved.This is not the story of THE guardian. This is a tale of A guardian. A man whose botched resurrection compels him to commit warcrime after warcrime in search of Fallen kneecaps for his collection. This is a story of his 'adventures' with the greatest guardians of all time.
Kudos: 3





	1. The Bungie Logo Appears

The high pitched, beta-voice of Ghost crackles to life.

“Dear reader, I must warn you. Before you continue on, do not expect a tale of adventure and bravery. Of heroes and a struggle between good and evil. This is not that kind of story. Brace yourselves, prepare your constitutions against a more harrowing tale. You are about to stare into the void, to reach into the howling dark and fall. Just as I have suffered, so will you suffer.

This is not the tale of  _ the  _ Guardian, slayer of Oryx, raider of the Leviathan. In fact, by the time of these events the Hive god was already slain along with his kin, and many of the horrors which plagued the Last City were already vanquished. This is not a story of the legendary Guardians, of heroes of nobility. Oh Traveler, no. I wish it was. This is the tale of  _ a _ Guardian. My Guardian.

**The Bungie Logo Appears**

“I’ve found you.Against the impossible odds, as a little Light shining in a universe-spanning ocean of darkness, alone and after thousands of years of searching. I’ve found you.

I whirred in excitement. You were below me, your corpse lay supinated in rusted armor permeated with brown tigra grass. A dessicated flower flowed from your empty eye socket “Well, we can fix that.” I sang happily, staring at your skull. 

That damned flower… If only I had known.

I summoned the paracausal Light from deep within my mechanical soul. I was alone, all alone. I burst with Light. Now, I would have a friend. My own Guardian. The Light flooded into the suit of armor, and your blood, your nerves and flesh knit back to life. It was a miracle of the Traveler, the first time I had ever performed a resurrection. Like with all Guardians however, I knew it would be the first of many.

An alarm pinged through the human battlenet.  _ Fallen, incoming. _ For just a second... One measly second. No, for less than a  _ millisecond _ I was distracted from your resurrection. I didn’t mean to, I swear. I pray to the Traveler every night since I learned the horrible truth. The ironic way in which my failure of attention threw us both into perdition. I pray for forgiveness. You weren’t meant to be this way. I wasn’t meant to see the things you’ve shown me, and the universe was never meant to be subjected to the things you’ve done.

It was only a small error. A tiny mistake in reformatting your neurology. I’m a foolish, sinful Ghost.

You rose from your crypt between cars near the Cosmodrome. I couldn’t have been happier. I had begun to wonder if I would ever find you. I spent years fantasizing about who you might be. Would you be a boy? A lady? Someone in between? I would love you no matter who you were. Oh, the adventures we would have! We would serve together, friends until the end. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I had already put you on a pedestal by the time you were awakened. That too, is my fault.

\-------------------------------------

The Guardian blinked, his new eyes adjusted to the daylight. He was standing in an unknown place, without a clue to who he was.

The Ghost had waited for so long, of course he had prepared a speech. In all his time searching the void, he’d come up with something magnanimous, something clever and mysterious. He was very proud of his introduction.

“I never knew you in life. Your first life, anyway. You died on a battlefield long before my time. Something special brought us together. They called it "the Traveler", and when it arrived, it changed your world forever. It was a Golden Age, and for centuries, humanity thrived... until it didn't. An ancient enemy pursued the Traveler across the universe. Humanity faced extinction. But the Traveler made a choice. It's sacrifice destroyed its ancient enemy, and brought life to the Ghosts. And you are one of the Traveler's chosen. You are a Guardian. This is your destiny!”

The Guardian sat back down. 

The Ghost sighed.  _ Of course this would be too much for you, too much for anyone to take in all at once _ , he thought. 

_ Wait! _ The Guardian laid back down, and put his hands beneath his head as if trying to go back to sleep. The Ghost was unsure of what to make of this, but the threat was escalating on the battlenet. The Fallen were already here.

The Ghost spoke with intensity “Guardian. Guardian? Eyes up, Guardian!”

The Guardian looked at the Ghost without an ounce of comprehension. It was probably best to give him a shorter, more manageable introduction.

“It worked. You're alive! You don't know how long I've been looking for you. I'm a Ghost. Actually, now I'm your Ghost. And you... well, you've been dead a long time. So you're going to see a lot of things you won't understand.”

A Fallen Captain shrieked in the background. The Ghost turned to look and then spun back to the Guardian. “This is Fallen territory. We aren't safe here. I have to get you to The City. Hold still.”

The Ghost disappeared into the Guardian's inventory. “Don't worry, I'm still with you. We need to move. Fast.”

The Guardian struggled to get up, rolling back and forth like a turtle until he righted himself.  _ It must be hard getting back on your feet after death _ , Ghost thought, forgetting that only moments before the man had stood with no problem at all. The unnamed Guardian shook his head and began a light jog towards a dilapidated structure.

He jogged with odd precision, as if trained in the art of jogging by a master marathoner. He took tiny steps to ensure minimal stress on the knees and he pumped his arms in small, perfect arcs.  _ What a strange man _ , Ghost thought.  _ Although I’m glad he has some eccentricities! It’s going to be so fun, learning about this person. What would he like? What could we bond over? _

“This place is the Cosmodrome, an ancient Russian space-port.” He said, excited.  _ So this is where our adventure will begin! _ “It’s quarantined now -- and quite dangerous, but our only way forward is through that wall.”

The Guardian hoofed it through a convenient pathway between rusted honda civics. He scrambled through a hole in the Cosmodrome and into a great maze of scaffolding. It was lit by harsh orange light that streamed through frosted windows. Wiring and broken pipe hung from the ceilings.

“I need to get you back to the City. To do that, we’ll need a ship.” 

The Guardian nodded like a newly born baby fighting against gravity, again understanding none of what was being said. He was reborn with no memories and knowledge of the world. His life was a buzzing, bubbling confusion. His Ghost couldn’t even tell if he could speak, although he seemed… mildly responsive, so the Guardian must understand English.

“But first… I need to find you a weapon. Let’s keep moving.” The silence was getting awkward. But the Ghost pressed on.  _ I  _ **_won’t_ ** _ mess up this first impression! _

The Guardian crept through the Cosmodrome until it was pitch black. They heard a loud scattering sound like giant cockroaches moving through the ductwork.

“Caaarreeefulll.” He said, adding to the ominous tone.  _ Tee hee, this is fun! _ The radar was flaring at their unseen foes. “They’re all around us.”

The Guardian stopped moving, unable to feel his way through the dark. 

“It’s a risk, but I’ll get us more light.”

The tiny machine emitted a wave of blue which cut through the darkness. He floated around the open space of the Cosmodrome inspecting the military base. “Hardened military system: Check. Frayed wires and rust: Check. When I flip this switch, expect trouble.” The Guardian was unsure of what ‘switch’ his Ghost had turned on, but the ball of paracausal Light sped back to him. Followed closely by two orange, buzzing drones.

“Not good! Not good! They’re definitely not happy to see us!” As power was restored to the facility, the Guardian heard a door unlatch. The Ghost came closer and saw a rifle laying conveniently on the ground. 

“There’s a rifle. Grab it!” The Guardian had already grabbed, loaded and cocked the weapon. He ducked under the door as it slammed shut behind him, leaving the drones in the dust. 

“I brought you back for a reason, Guardian.” The little Ghost could sense the Guardian’s capabilities, he now had a good picture of the man’s combat style. He was smooth, agile and calculated.

“You’re a Hunter, that means you’re not afraid to take risks.” The Ghost had no idea how horribly true this statement would turn out to be. “So keep moving and be ready for a fight.”

The Guardian swept the hallway with the gun barrel. The ancient Khvostav was cracked along the stock and covered in dust. But in the Guardian’s hand it looked slick. The practiced arcs he drew in the air with the auto-rifle filled his Ghost with confidence and pride. Slow, methodical, precise. He would be a legendary Hunter.

The Ghost kept up his internal monologue since his Guardian wasn’t talking.  _ My Guardian might be the quiet type, which is a bit disappointing. But he knows how to handle a weapon. His actions will speak louder than his words. _ If the Ghost could, he would be smiling.

The lights flickered on and off. The strobe effect added to the air of tension and the Ghost was on the edge of his seat in excitement. Red blips lit up the Guardians radar, just around the corner. This was it. Their first battle.

The Guardian peaked around the corner and two blue aliens burst from the walls and clambered to the floor. The Guardian backed up as far as he could and rested the gunbarrel against his fist which was pinned against the wall. He exposed almost none of himself while maintaining a perfect firing position. The Ghost bristled, this would be a good Guardian -- no, he would be a great hero.

The aliens shook their spears and cackled their warcries. 

Eight shots rang out. One for each of the aliens' limbs.

They fell to the floor, their feet shot out from under them. They flailed their arms but could not hold their spears. The tendons and ligaments of the hand were blown through gaping stigmata. The Guardian was perfectly accurate. Perfectly cruel.

It took the Ghost a minute to process what had happened. It was an inhuman feat of marksmanship. But the action was unnecessary, it was odd. The Ghost puzzled over his Guardian’s motives for incapacitating the Fallen Vandals rather than just doing away with them. 

_ Perhaps he’s the gentle sort? _ The Ghost was a being of Light and favored this idea. Although, he pitied the Guardian whose soft heart would need to be hardened in the battles to come. 

The Ghost was wrong. His wishful thinking was diametrically opposed to the bitter truth. The Guardian licked his lips and approached the floundering aliens. They squealed.

He rubbed his hands together, then pointed the weapon at his true target. His greatest boon, his greatest prize.

Sweet, sweet kneecaps. 

The Guardian quivered with pleasure. He took a knife from one of the aliens, and then stripped and claimed their patellas as his own. The squealing increased until it rivaled that of branded hogs. 

He slipped the caps in his pocket, stepped over the tormented aliens and left their impotent screaming behind.

The Ghost did not understand. He did not want to understand. But he had to. He needed to understand his Guardian. He ran subprocess after subprocess, regressing cognitions and behavior on actions, building models that might somehow predict why his Guardian had committed this war crime. How many thousands of times would he run these analyses again in the future? Not even the Traveler could know.

The Guardian sprinted over the grated floor with renewed vigor. He ran forth through the hallway when another Fallen dropped from overhead almost on top of him.

The Guardian withdrew his knife as the world ran in slow motion. In a fluid slice worthy of the greatest Iaido samurai masters, he slashed both kneecaps from the Fallen Dreg. The knife returned to its sheath before the pitiful alien even hit the ground. With no kneecaps to support its weight, the alien unexpectedly crumpled to the floor. Confusion hit before the pain, but oh when the pain hit the sound of a third hog echoed into the Cosmodrome. The Guardian stuffed the caps in his paracausal inventory. He left the alien behind, alive. 

He had what he wanted.

The Ghost emitted a tiny burst of Light. His equivalent of throwing up.  _ What monster have I awakened? What demon of the dark ages have I given immortality to?  _ More red hit the motion tracker and the Ghost snapped back to reality.

“S...s..stay fo...focused.” He stuttered. “If your tracker blinks, there’s... trouble nearby.”

The Ghost prayed that they’d encounter no more Fallen. For the aliens’ sake.

But alas, the Dregs dropped from the ceiling. In the whole sad history of their cuckold race, the Fallen had never been loved by luck or fate. These toy soldiers would be no exception. 

The Guardian summoned the light from within himself and a flaming solar grenade appeared in his hand. The fire did not burn him as it whisked itself between his fingers. He lobbed it gently. The aliens were the product of neglect and poor training. The Fallen had little mercy for their lowest ranks. The grenade had even less mercy. It bounced softly off the ether mask of one unfortunate Dreg, causing it to flinch. Then the grenade exploded and the bits of Fallen gore rained down on its companions. They’d known their brother for it’s entire life, and the two sisters roared in anguish.

But a knife had already left the Guardian’s hand and implanted itself squarely between the eyes of one of the sisters. The remaining Fallen had just enough time to bare its razored fangs before being pinned to the wall from gunfire.

_ Amazing _ , the Ghost thought.

He had heard tell of the talents of legendary Guardians. As a whole the defenders of humanity were talented, but their greatest skill was their ability to respawn. Aside from a select few outliers, Guardians would need a fire-team to invade a Hive nest or stop a Fallen offensive. He had known his Guardian only for the past few minutes, but he knew that on talent alone he stood near the top, with heroes like Saint-14. He was crude, and his behavior was disgusting. But his talent for combat was beneath only the greatest of Guardians. One day he may be powerful enough to challenge Shaxx, or even  _ the  _ Guardian. The Wolf of Fire, killer of Oryx and his kin. The legendary Jabes.

The Guardian went about his grizzley business and collected the precious kneecaps. He sighed in frustration at the ruined state of the kneecaps belonging to the Dreg blown to bits by the grenade and tossed them to the side. He had standards after all.

The Ghost retroactively hid these memories behind a firewall. He may need to access them later, but dear Traveler he did not want these memories to haunt him in moments of quiet.

The Ghost dialed back his ethics functions. He pulled from deep within him his residual dislike of the Fallen. They were his enemies after all. He hoped he could stop empathizing with them.

“The Fallen are scavengers — alien pirates picking at humanity’s remains.”

The Guardian paid him no heed, he ran and gunned down aliens as they appeared. Thank god he wasn’t stopping to collect every kneecap. He did stretch his hand out towards the knee of one Fallen and pulled his hand back forlorn. Even he knew this was not the time.

“Speaking of pirates there’s a loot cache. Let’s take what’s inside.”

The Guardian kicked the cache and it popped open. The Ghost hadn’t expected much from the Cosmodrome, but even still. Inside was one of the worst guns ever made. The Stubborn Oak. It  _ must _ have been stubborn to survive so long.  _ At least it will give us more options… _

The Guardian switched to his energy shotgun as the rusted hallways narrowed in around them. Several Fallen Dregs were there in CQC range.

The Guardian ripped the ether mask off one Fallen, then stuffed the Stubborn Oak into its maw and pulled the trigger. He yanked the weapon free and thrust the butt into the gut of another Dreg before bashing its head in from above. The gun fired three more times until only the Guardian was left in the room. He stared at the Fallen and tried to step forward, but couldn’t. 

_ Something’s holding him back _ . 

The Ghost saw his Guardian, and felt through their connection something resembling turmoil inside his mind. It was… strong. Not unlike the feelings experienced from the loss of a loved one.  _ But the Guardian has just woken. What could have possibly given him such a sense of loss? _ Unfortunately, the Ghost could guess at what it was that was tearing his Guardian apart.

“Ok… you can take one. JUST ONE!”

The Guardian literally skipped over to the Fallen and took his patella prize. 

They came to an open room, and the Guardian switched again to his auto-rifle. 

Inside was a host of Fallen and a resilient Captain. This would be a challenge for any new Guardian. But despite his personality, the Ghost knew his Guardian would chew them up and spit them out.

“More Fallen! Hit ‘em with everything you’ve got!” He said, his Light filled his brain damaged companion.

The Guardian ripped through the lower ranked aliens with a staccato of gunfire. They were nothing but additionals to the Captain who towered over them. Nothing but kneecaps for collection.

He ducked and dived through the few bolts of energy that flew from the rapidly diminishing number of Dregs. It seemed like nothing could touch him.

His absorption shield took an unexpected dip. A canister of shrapnel grazed the Guardian, causing the shield to crackle. The Captain shot another trio of exploding metal hunks precisely towards the Guardian’s head. A headshot would force a death, force a reset. The Ghost was worried, he’d heard through the grapevine that plenty of Guardians with amazing potential just couldn’t handle dying. They would respawn of course, but their minds collapsed. Incapable of handling the existential stress of death. The Ghost just hoped his Guardian would be stronger.

But this wouldn’t be his first death. The Guardian harnessed the Light and propelled himself in a fanciful pirouette away from the projectiles. Solar energy flowed through his veins, a cloak of raging fire enveloped him and clothed him in the Traveler’s immense primordial power. 

An ethereal Golden Gun manifested in his palm.

The Captain paused, he knew well the threat of Guardian magic. He turned to flee. The Guardian aimed, and fired. At the last second the Captain teleported away, just a few meters. It wasn’t enough to compete with the razor sharp instincts of the psychopath before him.

One bullet from a Golden Gun could eviscerate all but the most sturdy of opponents. Six would turn anything outside a Hive God, Ahamkara or Vex Mind to atomized powder.

Six bullets entered the Resilient Captain.

“Your Light is  _ strong _ Guardian,” the Ghost said, his pride managing to burgeon through his horror and disgust.

After some training all Guardians could manifest a super ability, but it took an innate talent, a fundamentally close relationship with the Light to just pull a ‘Super’ out of thin air within an hour of being woken. Generally, the closer a Guardian is to the Light the more they reflect the true nature of the Light. Great Guardians may be rough around the edges but they are also brave, noble, altruistic. There were a few exceptions, but the Light brought  _ goodness _ to its contractors' souls.

Except for his Guardian. Still, the Ghost was proud. At least some of the Guardians' features matched with the fantasies he’d held for nearly a thousand years.

“Keep pushing forward, I’ll try to locate a ship we can use to fly home.”

The Guardian silently entered an enormous air duct to his right. The few poor Dregs and Vandals which challenged him died unceremoniously. The Guardian must have been in a hurry, for he only stopped for a single kneecap.

They came outdoors. 

“A Fallen raiding party! We’re in more trouble than I thought.”

A Skiff hovered in the near distance, the Hunter shot at it for a few seconds, and after observing no visible damage continued towards the sound of gunfire beneath the aircraft.

The Skiff dropped it’s load, a Fallen Walker. The tank was immediately under attack by three other Guardians. Some were armored in powerful shining gear. The Ghost could only feel a bit insecure at his Guardian’s ragged wear. 

Trace rifles, rockets and hand-cannon rounds punched into the insectoid machine. The Guardian lept into combat, jumping not once, not twice in the air. But a full triple jump.

_ So this is your build. _ The Guardian was optimized for pure mobility.

The brazen Hunter landed on the Walker, pointed the Stubborn Oak to the metal plate at his feet and fired. The tank hissed and steamed as an exhaust panel was forced open. The orange-hot inner workings were exposed.

The Guardian placed a solar grenade in the port and dodged off the Walker.

It exploded and crumpled to the floor.

But they weren’t out of the woods yet. They may have crippled the raiding party by taking out their armor, but the Fallen were tenacious.

“Keep fighting! I’m scanning for nearby ships.” The Guardian only acknowledged his Ghost by shooting a floating shank out of the air. “You’re doing great. Focus on the Fallen.”

A large Captain was keeping the other Guardians busy. The Hunter stalked behind him and crouched in a bush. 

_ A Captain of the house of Dusk. This is a named enemy, why are they sending big-guns out to the forgotten side of the Cosmodrome?  _ The Ghost thought.

The Captain slew a Guardian, the man must have been a rookie. Arc fire had punched through his shields and eventually lay waist to his belly, coating his intestines in high voltage electricity.

The man screamed and blinked out of existence as his Ghost picked up the pieces of causality and tried to put them back together.

An unknown Guardian yelled to the Hunter “Help us! You in the bushes!” The man pointed to the Ghosts’ hunkered down Guardian. The Hunter made a ‘tsk’ sound, annoyed. His position was exposed.

The Captain wheeled around to fire upon him, and the Ghost thought it would be their first death.

But it was not. 

The Captain of the House of Dusk had never faced cowardice this powerful before.

The Hunter had already fled, demonstrating an ability to flee that rivaled any in the system.

He was hidden behind another bush in a matter of milliseconds.

The Captain turned to the other Guardians and continued to pound into them. They were just average Guardians, fighting for their lives out on the tundra plains of Earth. For humanity.

They fell one by one, screaming in agony. The first Guardian to respawn yelled in terror then fled. As the last Guardian lost his balance and dropped to a knee, blood streamed from a cut on his forehead and dribbled over his blinking eyes.

“Eat shit, bastard!”

He threw a void grenade at the Captain’s feet. It would not be enough. Arc energy put the man down and all the while, the Hunter did not stir.

The grenade blew, and the Captain blinked away as his shields fell. Now was the time for action. The Guardian accelerated into combat at impossible speed. He held his knife backwards, and rolled underneath the Captain. A flurry of cuts befell the alien and it tumbled over and died, with the knife buried in its chest and its knees devoid of caps.

The Ghost brought himself back to reality. He had never been so grateful not to possess legs, and the kneecaps which came with them. “No... no ships. But I’m detecting another friendly signal nearby. They may be able to help!”

He hoped that the Guardian would evacuate the area quickly. Before the others respawned….

The radio buzzed. “I repeat, this is Shaw Han. My Vanguard operation is compromised; I’m separated from my strike team.” The Ghost could have sworn through biometrics that his Guardian rolled his eyes.

The Ghost called back. “Vanguard! They’re from the Last City! Shaw, where are you? We can help!”  _ This could be our ticket to a ship! _ He thought.

The man through the radio called to teammates who would not answer him. “Cas, Maeve, if you’re hearing this, rendezvous at the following coordinates…”

It appears as though the Hunter wasn’t the only one to ignore the pitiful Ghost. 

_ It must be interference.Yes that’s it. Nobody could possibly be this rude. _

“Something’s interfering.” The Ghost said. “I don’t think he heard us, but I’ve got a lock on his location.” The Ghost fell silent as he kept triangulating, but couldn’t shake his frustration. He pouted a tiny machine pout.

The Ghost placed white diamond markers on the Guardian’s HUD, leading him into another complex. It was, like the rest of the Cosmodrome, barely lit and covered in rust and chipped red paint. 

More Dregs, more Vandals. But this didn’t stop the Guardian’s momentum. He slid with the Stubborn Oak and ended their lives in quick succession. 

As they entered what must have been in its day a warehouse, they saw another Hunter in an expensive vestige. Decorative bones armored his left shoulder and arm guard. The man twitched at the sound of their approach and aimed an auto-rifle at the Hunter. The Hunter aimed back.

“Don’t shoot!” The Ghost whispered to his Guardian. The Hunter clicked the safety off and put his finger through the trigger guard.  _ Dear Light no, please for just a second listen to me! _

The veteran Guardian, clearly Shaw, realized who the man approaching him was, and put down his weapon.

“Oh thank the Light,” Shaw said, “I didn’t think we had other Guardians on patrol here.”

He paused, disappointed. “Oh… you’re fresh out of the grave, aren’t you?”

_ Rude!  _ The Ghost thought. “We heard your distress call. We’re here to help.”

The Hunter sighed and put his head in his hands in exasperation. The Ghost had a sneaking suspicion that his Guardian was no philanthropist.

The seasoned Guardian ignored his theatrics. “Ha! Brave. I like it. Tall order for your first day, though.” 

_ That’s more like it! Inspirational but realistic. _ The Ghost got over his initial dislike of Shaw Han. The Hunter nodded in agreement, he wanted no part in the conflict. This was not his problem.

“Eh, doesn’t help that I rushed the perimeter scans, and now…” Shaw Han sighed. “I need to locate my team before there’s nothing left to find. Sit tight. I’ll get you to the City soon enough.”

The Ghost waited for his Guardian to speak up. Sure it was his first day, but the Hunter was definitely strong enough to help out! 

….Utter silence.

The Hunter nodded again and sat down. He began playing with the grass.

_ What! No! This is not how our adventure is supposed to start out!  _ The tiny machine decided to take the lead. “We’ve made it this far. Let us help!”

Shaw put his foot up on a dead Fallen, hands at his hips as if posing for a photographer, “I get it. Nobody likes to be sidelined—-”

“Guardians are stronger together, isn’t that right?” The Ghost said. Shaw smirked, pleased.

“Huh, you sound like Commander Zavala. All right then. Load up! This is gonna get dicey, but do what I say and we’ll get through it.”

The Hunter threw a small tantrum at being signed up for this shit. He slammed his fist on the ground, threw the grass he was playing with to the side and pulled his head back and exhaled explosively. 

Shaw stared at this display from a grown man, an immortal being of paracausal power. 

The Ghost broke the awkward silence, “We won’t let you down.”

“Al - alight? Follow my signal.” His voice did not exude confidence. “There’s a weapon in that locker, probably an upgrade for you. Grab it and head to my location.”

The Guardian walked to the locker at an unreasonably slow pace. His head down, each foot shuffled in deliberate protest. He opened the locker.

_ Well this is better!  _ It was a rare Ballyhoo hand-cannon. Not the greatest gun, but it would do in a pinch! The Guardian tilted the gun in his hand, questioning the powder blue floral pattern printed on the handle and cylinder. 

They passed through the building, though Shaw had ran ahead and left them behind for an unknown reason.  _ Well it’s clear he is an irresponsible Guardian, he failed the perimeter check, got his team in a thorny situation and left a new Guardian behind! _

Shaw called over the radio. “I’ll scan for signals from my jumpship. I need you to be my eyes on the ground.”

The Hunter came to a large clearing. Dilapidated scaffolding rose into the distance and an ancient, unused rocket pierced the sky. Old, old earth tech.  _ Why is old Earth tech here, if humanity lived for hundreds of years in a golden age? Wasn’t Soviet Russia disbanded before even then? Why is this tech still lying around…?  _ The Ghost thought. Questions that could never be answered.

“Something’s causing interference, my scanner’s shot. We might be doing this the old fashioned way,” said Shaw from a safe distance away in his Jumpship. “Analyzing… I’ve got a source for the interference. Let’s check it out.” 

They hoofed it through small valleys and over a slowly moving creek, running towards an objective marker the Ghost had placed for the Hunter. It was a Fallen antenna. That’s what was blocking the signal.

Shaw yelled. “Get the Fallen off that thing!” The Ghost wondered how Shaw could see them from low orbit. A shiver ran through his carapace as he could not think of any possible answers.

“Get me closer to that antenna.” The Ghost knew he could fix it, tech was his specialty!

The Ghost had, at this point, spaced out during the slaughter. He needed to focus on things he could do to help, without focusing on the carnage before him. The Guardian was killing and killing and killing. At this point, he might as well be operating on auto-pilot. No ‘additionals’ could hope to challenge him.

“Stolen City tech has been spliced in here. That’s scrambling your scans.”  _ Classic Fallen, those thieves can’t come up with good tech or weaponry on their own.  _ He began scanning the antenna, sending mild electric pulses here and there and soldering the wires back to working order. 

“Fallen can’t resist tinkering with old scrap.” Shaw said.  _ How does he know???? _ The Ghost scanned his Hunter for any hidden cameras that the veteran may have slipped on the new Guardian. He found nothing.

“They’re certainly skilled at it.” The robot admitted reluctantly. “This will take a minute to fix.” The drone of Fallen Skiffs blared overhead. “Hold them off while I work on it.”

The Guardian stood under a landing Skiff, threw his grenade upwards and blew all of the tethered Dregs to bits. The second Skiff was more problematic, it took him a frustrating number of bullets to finish off the swarm of Shanks that poured from it’s hangar. After a few embarrassing missed shots, he finally landed the bullets he needed to. No Fallen or Fallen machines remained.

“Signal restored.” The Ghost said, pleased he could contribute literally anything. At least he was better than Shaw.

“Damn, fireteam signals are missing, and last known locations are nowhere near each other.” Shaw responded, but his voice soon dropped. “They wouldn’t split up unless things got real bad. I’ll track Cas, you find Maeve. Sending coordinates now.” The Ghost became frustrated at the human anchor that was Shaw Han, dragging his new Guardian down into a sea of his incompetence. 

A new marker appeared on the Hunter’s HUD. It was on the far side of the river, over a broken bridge. Few Fallen pestered them on the way, and those who did became corpses.

The journey was silent.

_ Unbearably silent! _ The Ghost thought.  _ Well, my Guardian still doesn’t know who he is, where he is, or even who he’s fighting! I should get him up to date as soon as possible! _

“Myths say the Fallen once lived in the Traveler’s grace.”

The Ghost had not realized that the Guardian had not listened to his opening spiel, and not only did not know what the Traveler was, but frankly did not even know who the Ghost was. 

“But something happened. The Traveler left them, and that brought ruin to their civilization. They’ve come all this way chasing what they lost, hoping to get it back. Or… take it from us.” 

The Ghost spoke in fear. It was true that the Fallen were not a powerhouse, but they had threatened the Last City more than once. It was not inconceivable that they could do enough damage for one of the greater powers to finally snuff out the sparks of remaining humanity. If it weren’t for  _ the  _ Guardian… the Ghost did not want to think about it.

The marker lay behind a purple energy field, which blocked off the entrance to another facility. “Looks like the Fallen want to keep us out.”

“Or keep something in. There’s worse than Fallen Dregs in old Russia.” Shaw foreshadowed.

The Hunter tilted his head, concerned. The Ghost paid him no mind, he was good, good enough to handle whatever might be thrown at him. Given his Guardian’s stubborn nature, it might even be a good thing for him to learn through trial by fire.

“Let’s check out the control unit.” 

The Guardian touched the unit, and the Ghost flew from his fingers to inspect it. “This is locked down with adaptive encryption. Well need access keys to bypass it. The Fallen salvagers might have some.”

The Guardian got the gist. Kill the Fallen, collect the mcguffin. But he had a better idea. He stuck the Stubborn Oak up to the control unit’s keypad.

“No! You troglodyte that’s not how lock systems work!” He pulled the trigger and ruined the device.

“Now we’ll be locked out forever!” 

The Guardian walked forwards, the Ghost kept nagging but the blue barrier dropped. “But.. but the encryption… that’s not how it works…” This was the Ghost’s only job, and now it was robbed from him. Just like the many dreams he’d built for the past millennia.

The Guardian had left the Ghost behind, it zoomed forwards to catch up. 

_ Oh, oh no. _ The Ghost sensed the Darkness inside the building…  _ This might be too much, but I have to trust in my Guardian. If only Shaw were here to help! _

“Shaw, you were right about this barrier. The Fallen were keeping the Hive at bay!”

“Then Maeve is in more trouble than I thought. You need to hurry!” Shaw’s voice was panicked, he had failed to properly secure the perimeter. Whatever happened to Maeve was on his clumsy hands.

The Guardian crept up a set of ruined steel stairs, the passageway grew ever darker as they drew closer to the Hive. Then he stopped.

“Didn’t you hear Shaw? We have to hurry!” The Ghost said emphatically. 

The Guardian stared slack-jawed at the walls. They were covered with barnacles. Hive worms. He was struck with childlike wonder and stroked the walls tenderly. A worm wriggled out of its coral shell. He scratched it where one might assume a worm’s chin would be. It bit him with it’s tiny maw, then recoiled back inside.

The Ghost had no idea what possessed the Guardian to touch the walls. Hive worms made his steel shell crawl! He was… an odd duck to say the least. But his obsessions would need to be put on hold.

“We need to go! This is a powerful surge of Arc energy. Whatever’s causing it, even Transmats won’t get through right now.”

The Guardian begrudgingly left the worms to their business. 

The Ghost was frightened. This much Darkness, this much Arc energy. The Hive were an existential threat, even to the Light. They were as close to direct agents of Darkness that humanity had to fight. And they were known for draining Ghosts dry. He shuddered.

“Hive contact!”

Horrendous, mottled and lurching. The Hive Thralls descended upon the Guardian.

“Guardian?”

But the Hunter did not move. He stood there, shivering.

The Ghost ran biometrics on his Guardian. He must be terrified, the Hive were not like the Cabal and Fallen. They may be more comprehensible than the Vex, but even so they fell right between eldritch abominations and rotting corpses on the scale of horror. Many Guardians chose specifically to deal with the other factions so as not to see the Hive in person.

_ Biometrics scanning… his pulse is up, pupils are dilated. No doubt about it, the Guardian must be stressed. _

The Hive kept coming, they were inching closer to the Guardian.

_ Skin conductance is up, but his neurology is… what?  _ The Ghost rechecked the numbers. Desperately.  _ A neurological cascade in the parietal lobe, dopaminergic systems are firing through the…. nucleus accumbens? That can’t be right. And what’s this? A surge of oxytocin?! _

The pleasure centers of his brain were firing, his eyes were dilated, his heart rate was up, and oxytocin was being released in enormous, abnormal amounts.

The Guardian was exhibiting signs of love. 

He opened his arms up wide to accept the Hive Thralls. They smashed into him, throwing their limbs into his face and scratching against his skin. “Guardian? Guardian! You need to move!”

As he was being flayed by the sharp nails of the Hive, the Guardian grasped a hold of one Thrall. It was writhing in his arms, squealing blindly and thrashing about like a prematurely born infant.  _ Something is really, really wrong with him _ . The Ghost wondered why he was being punished by this union.

The Ghost watched in horror as his Guardian stroked the Hive monster’s head. It sank its teeth into his neck, but the Guardian did not flinch. No, he squeezed the Thrall into a tighter embrace.

The Thralls covered him in a mound of violent flesh. The Guardian took the pain, and did nothing. 

Until he was just a smattering of gore on the floor.

This was his first death. Not induced by getting in over his head, freezing up, or by a powerful foe. No. He died by his own tragic inability to hurt what he loved. Which was apparently the Hive.

Hours. It took them hours of slogging through the Hive, dying. Dying again and again and again and again—- 

The Ghost’s mind was properly shattered. His Guardian would not slay the Hive. He wouldn’t even push them back. He made his way piecemeal between deaths through the door. 

He was mauled by Thralls, crushed repeatedly under the foot of an Ogre. But eventually, somehow, they made it through the horde. The Hive had exhausted themselves on the killing, and lay in a puddle sleeping, calorically drained and pleased with their slaughter.

At this point the Ghost was so relieved to have left the Hive behind that he didn’t even comment on the absurdity of the past few hours. “Maeve’s signal was just ahead.” He had a sneaking suspicion they were too late. 

By this time Maeve was long dead. They had spent too much time ‘playing’ with the Hive. She was  _ dead _ dead. The Ghost scanned her residual signal, only a pile of Darkness and ashes. “No…”

Her incompetence as a Guardian was punished brutally by the power of a named Hive Wizard. It loomed overhead, the ornate robes which danced in the breeze mirrored the hearts that danced in the Hunter’s eyes. 

Navota, spawn of Eir.

“Guardian, I can’t revive you if you die here!”

The Ghost warned him, he  _ needed  _ to fight. Or he’d end up like Maeve. The Hunter ran forwards with his arms wide in an attempt to hug the Wizard.

Navota felt something she had never felt before. The man before her ran arms extended, tongue lolling out, squealing in pleasure. She felt fear. 

Navota fled before the Guardian’s love. His princess disappeared into the night in a poof of smoke. The Hunter fell to his knees and raised his hands to the sky, clutching feebly at the wisps of fading Darkness. 

“There may be Light in her Ghost.” The small robot said without much hope.

The Guardian stepped forwards. *Crunch* He bent his knee to look at the bottom of his shoe. Bits of Maeve’s Ghost were stuck on the muddy boots.

“Shaw, I’m sorry. We were too late…”

“It’s been hours!” Shaw belted out over the radio. 

The Guardian hopped one legged over to a nearby stick. He grimaced in disgust then used it to flick pieces of Ghost off the sole. 

“But I can’t blame you.” Shaw said, his melodrama knew no bounds. “I was too. Cas, I… I couldn’t get to him in time.”

“There was a Hive Wizard,” the Ghost said, “a powerful one. We... tried.”

“That explains why it took so long, I’m sorry I snapped at you.” Shaw was penitent.

The Ghost paused, unable to correct him. 

“This isn’t on you. You did what you could.” Shaw sighed.

“We have the... remains of her Ghost —- Stop that!” He yelled at his Guardian, who was busy flicking the Ghost’s corpse into a corner so others wouldn’t step on it and ruin their shoes. He was just being a good citizen!

“What was that?” Shaw asked.

“Nothing! Nothing at all!”

“You should just… just head back to camp before that Wizard comes back.”

That’s exactly what the Hunter did. He skedaddled through waves of Hive and Fallen, paying them no heed. He had exhausted his brain's reserves of oxytocin, physically unable to produce more. Due to his neurological… abnormalities, the amount of hormone released was roughly equivalent to being covered in puppies for an entire year.

Shaw was standing forlorn in camp. The Guardian approached him and handed him a doggy bag filled with Ghost bits.

“Even the light has limits. Sometimes, you don’t come back. That Hive you saw was a powerful Wizard named Navota. Didn’t expect to run into something that strong. I wasn’t prepared. Now it’s too late. Maeve and Cas knew the risks. Best way to honor them is to finish the job.”

Shaw waited for the Guardian to say anything in agreement. After an awkward silence, Shaw continued. Just assuming, for some unknown reason, that the Guardian who had expressed displeasure with helping him at every opportunity would be invested in avenging the honor of his failure of a team.

He continued. “There’s a golden age relic, a superconductor, in a sealed chamber nearby. Vanguard says we can make a weapon out of it.”

The Guardian sat down and once again diddled with the dirt.

“Problem is, the superconductor is overflowing with Arc energy. Can’t even get near the place, much less break the lock.” The Guardian’s piles of sand were starting to take the shape of small castles.

“We need to find a solution, and something tells me our Fallen neighbors know a thing or two about the infrastructure here.” 

At this point the Guardian was burning ants with small spurts of solar energy. He began guiding the ants into miniature formations. 

“These were my fireteam’s assignments. They’re yours now. Go shake the tree; we’ll see what falls out.” The Guardian pumped his fist in excitement as the ants waged war on each other.

Shaw took this as enthusiasm towards his request. He handed the Guardian a Damiette-LR2 sniper rifle. The Guardian promptly used the barrel to divide up the tiny battlefield into trench lines.

“Thanks for the assist, Guardians are stronger together, right? After all this is over, you can use Maeve’s jumpship to get to the Tower. She’d want you to have it since you’re leading the charge against Navota.” He gestured to a triangular ship parked near the camp. The Guardian’s eyes perked up, he began walking towards the ship.

“It’s a beauty isn’t it,” he took a closer look at the dogshit spacecraft, “Well, she took care of it at least. Go get that superconductor, and it’s yours.”

The Guardian blew open the hatch with Golden Gun. He sat at the controls and fidgeted around in the cockpit for a toolbox.

“What are you doing? I’ll give you the keys after you get the conductor—- “

The Guardian pulled the hatch shut, unwound a spool of duct tape he found in the toolbox, and patchworked the hatch together. His Ghost doubted it would withstand the vacuum of space. It was a fair suspicion.

Shaw called impotently over the coms. “Wait, wait! I can’t do this on my own, they died because of me! The perimeter, I… THE PERIMETER! Guardian the guilt is crushing me— “

The Guardian clicked off the speakers, and when he judged the duct-taping sufficient, he nodded and started the engines. 

“Don’t leave me! Everyone leaves me behind… they all, Cas… MAEVE.”

The ship pulled into the sky. The Ghost said nothing, he was only pleased that he would no longer be subjected to watching the Guardian commit atrocity after atrocity. In the City, there would be no combat. Surely.

As the atmosphere thinned, the Guardian selected auto-pilot that would take him to the tower. They got into loose orbit, the air was too thin. The duct tape, wily a plan as it was, did not hold.

He died, and his Ghost was forced to respawn him over and over in the vacuum of the stratosphere as the ship completed its hour long trip to the tower. It was a cycle of gasping for breath, death, post-mortem priapism, and resurrection.

And thus their adventure began!


	2. Of the Tower, the Tower Pusher and the Gaslighting of Banshee-44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newly revived Guardian has escaped the vortex of irresponsibility that is Shaw Han and arrives at the Tower. Like all Guardians, he must register and pick a name! But lo, his Ghost has lost him? Will they ever meet again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second chapter of The Cannon. These are the official events which occur in Destiny 2.

They touched down at the Tower, or what was left of the Tower after the Almighty. For a new Guardian with no money, registration or name, the Hunter got a surprisingly warm welcome. 

“You must be fresh blood, name’s Holliday.” Said a blonde lady, covered in grease. She had finished securing the late Maeve’s jumpship to the hanger dock. She offered the Hunter her hand.

She extended her tattooed arm. He gave her a firm handshake, the kind of grip which inspires confidence without issuing a challenge. The handshake of an expert negotiator. Amanda felt the power before her. She smirked, this one was interesting. She was also an old ‘hand’ at greeting new Guardians. She returned the shake with equal power.

It lasted too long for the Ghost’s comfort. Not having hands, he was unable to understand the nonverbal communication which occurred between palms. As much as he was glad he didn’t have legs, and the associated kneecaps, he now wanted for hands. From her firm grip alone Amanda Holliday became one of only five persons that the Hunter would ever respect.

The little machine’s tiny mechanical heart burned with fiery jealousy, this was the first time he’d seen his Guardian engage in any remotely prosocial action! Dammit, it was the only time the Hunter had acknowledged the existence of another being! His precious moment of bonding was stolen away by this… HARLOT. 

Oh how he wished he had hands!

“Just for you Guardian, I’ll cover the docking fees and fix up that bucket of bolts.” Holliday said. She liked the silent type. Thought they’d make better Guardians than those braggarts running the show. Plus, she had bad experience with some of the A-listers. One in particular made her sick to her stomach, but that was neither here nor there. _That_ Guardian was away on a high end mission, he wouldn’t be back for another few days thank the Light. She remembered the wise words Zavala had told her in reference to the man. “Never meet your heroes Holliday.”

To her offer the Hunter shook his head and held up a hand. He respected Holliday, and wouldn’t be taking her charity.

“No Guardian, I insist,” she said. “I’ll indefinitely defer the normal payment system I use for newbies. I like your style. Just pay me back by making it big in the Crucible.”

The Hunter ruffled through his inventory. He flipped her a kneecap.

“....” Holiday caught the disc. It was slippery in her fingers and she had no idea what it was. The Guardian gave her a thumbs up. He left the way he came, without a word.

She fiddled with the thing between her fingers. Perhaps it was valuable? Guardians often came across strange loot on their adventures. She bit it as one would a coin, but got nothing for her efforts other than a wrinkled nose. _He’s odd. But I sense great things from him._ She pocketed the thing, hefted her toolbox and started to work on the ship. It was for people like him, quirky, capable recruits that she continued to work so diligently despite the long hours and sleepless nights.

“It’s time you met up with Ikora.” The Ghost told his Guardian. He was still bristling with envy. “She’s the one that introduces recruits to the hustle and bustle of the Tower.” His Guardian shook his head. The Ghost’s electronic heart lit up. He was finally acknowledged! For the first, sweet moment the Guardian recognized his presence. A shot of simulated dopamine coursed through him, and the Ghost buzzed with happiness.

“Oh, you must be tired. It’s been a long day and I didn’t even think about it.” The Ghost was elated. _I shouldn’t be too hard on him after all, my Guardian can take things at his own pace._ The Guardian walked through the Tower. It did not take him long to find a bench. He set his rifle on it, marking it as his own. “Leaving unattended weapons around here’s not a good idea Guardian.” The Ghost did not think even for a moment that someone might try to steal the auto-rifle, it wasn’t even worth the extra weight. “You don’t want a civilian accidentally hurting themselves. Children often tour the Tower, so… What are you doing?” 

The Guardian was chasing a newspaper that was being blown away in the breeze. 

The Ghost huffed. _Ignored again! Could my Guardian be any less friendly?_ The machine thought. But he remembered the rush of finally being acknowledged just a moment ago, and he softened. “Guardian, are you perhaps interested in the news? I can explain whatever you need about the world or current events, I am hooked up to the battle-net!”

After a minute of chasing the newspaper in circles Guardian claimed his prize and held it aloft with pride. “I’m a thousand times more informative than antiquated paper media! Please feel free to ask me any questions.” The Ghost said without thinking. _That’s right, my Guardian is mute! I hope I haven’t offended him._ He was terrified that he had stepped on an eggshell with his nonexistent legs and drove a new wedge between him and his already disinterested Guardian.

“I, I mean you just have to nod your head if you want to hear about the Tower, or the Fallen. I can give you a brief history of the predicament Humanity finds itself in, though much of the record is lost.” The Guardian plopped himself down on the bench and pulled the newspaper over his shoulder as a makeshift blanket. 

“Guardian, there are barracks available at low cost, we can pay on credit for now.” The Hunter simply tucked his legs in to give the newspaper as much coverage as possible. _He must be really tired._ The Ghost found the behavior almost… cute. _I’ll give it a rest for today_. The Ghost disappeared into the Guardians inventory. The man slept throughout the night.

But Ghosts don’t sleep, they can only reduce power functionings to make the passage of time more bearable. But the Ghost was too excited. He ran simulation after simulation on possible interactions between the two of them. He would be ready to solidify their relationship tomorrow! 

The next morning the Guardian again ‘declined’ to visit Ikora. His declination took the form of turning his back on the Ghost and stealing a hot-dog from a nearby vendor, but the Ghost, ever the wishful thinker, seized the moment as an opportunity.

“Ikora is very friendly. But if you’re too shy and don’t want to meet up with her _I_ can take you around the Tower instead!” He said to the Hunter, who was leaning back against the bench enjoying his stolen breakfast.

The Ghost desperately tried to weasel in on the Guardian like a used car salesman. He was grasping at anything that could bring them closer together. He thought of the things they could bond over. The Guardian has expressed interest in several domains… the Hive for one. But when the Ghost began to speak of the Hive he was met with zero response. No affect crossed the Guardian’s face. His biometrics showed brain waves that were approaching sleep at a concerning pace. _Kneecaps? No. I’m a paracausal entity of the Light! I can’t do that to myself._

_Hmmmmm._ He sized up the Guardian, inspecting him for shared interests. The Hunter was a pitiful sight. The bits of his armor which weren’t rusted over were covered in mud and Fallen ichor. His weapons were not better off, the crack on his auto-rifle had grown from the full day of abuse. It stretched from stock to the grip. It was only a matter of time before the thing would shake itself to pieces. 

The Guardian had an apt for slaughter, but like most rookies he was limited by his starting gear. Following tradition, to join the ranks of the greatest Guardians the second step of their adventure should be to modify and magnify their Light through better equipment. _I know how much he loves slaughter._ Traumatic flashbacks wracked the Ghost’s mind. _By extension he must love weapons._

The Guardian was scratching his bum, uninterested in anything the Ghost had offered up to this point. “Would you like to visit the Gunshop?” The Ghost asked hesitantly. The Guardian stopped mid-scratch. The Ghost started hovering slowly in the direction of the Tower’s best weaponsmith. _Please please please._ The Guardian sighed, sat up and heaved himself off the bench. _Yes! Finally something goes as planned._

The Ghost led his Guardian to Banshee-44, the Tower gunsmith. The Guardian had only shown interest in monsters and instruments of murder and torment, much to Ghost’s dismay. But he was compelled to help the Guardian. Perhaps there was a path back towards light, goodness, and righteousness?

“Banshee-44 is our gunsmith, he’s been here from the beginning! A great exo, but his mind… well, just be patient with him. I’ll introduce you.” The Ghost said. _This might be troublesome, a mute trying to communicate across Banshee’s advanced cognitive decline._ The Guardian didn’t react. He just walked in an unnaturally straight line, bumping into every single pedestrian smaller than him from here to the gunsmith kiosk. Most were children.

“Banshee!” The Ghost said. “I want to introduce you to my Guardian! It finally happened! Not exactly… _how_ I thought it would happen, but still!”

Banshee looked up from his work, screwdriver and pulse rifle in hand. “Huh?” He grunted.

“This is my Guardian.”

“Who?”

The Ghost shined a light on the only man standing in front of the kiosk.

“Oh,” Banshee uttered, “hey, nice to meet you. Sorry, memory’s not what it used to be. What’s your name?”

“He’s mute, Banshee.” The Ghost said, a tinge of sadness in his robotic voice.

“Who is?” Banshee asked.

“My Guardian.”

“Who’s your Guardian?”

The Ghost sighed and shined a light again.

“Oh! Sorry, memory’s not what it used to be. So, you’re mute?”

The Guardian’s voice dribbled out of his lips “Yes, but I don’t like to talk about it.”

Banshee’s broken, ancient mind collapsed in on itself as the silicon neurons chugged to exhaustion like an obese hamster on a treadmill in an attempt to understand the oxymoronic statement. The Ghost turned to his Guardian, light bursting out of his mechanical frame in rage.

“YOU CAN TALK?! IT'S BEEN DAYS!”

The Guardian ignored his flustered Ghost. “So about those parts I bought the other day.”

“What parts?” Banshee asked.

“The parts, Banshee, the upgrade modules. I paid extra up-front as a token of goodwill.” The Guardians voice trailed off in mock disappointment, “you said I’d have them by today.”

The Ghost had no idea how the Guardian knew about upgrade modules, or what he was talking about with Banshee. The Guardian had never met the exo before, and certainly had never placed an order. Besides, the Hunter was flat broke.

“What do you --ooof!”

The Guardian stuffed his Ghost into an old sock to silence him. He swung the sock around like a bolo for good measure to disorient the poor machine. The Ghost wailed as it spun about, unsure of where the sock had come from. 

“The modules Banshee, surely you have them? I paid so much.” The sock turned so fast it made the sound of a desk fan.

Banshee began to sweat oil. He didn’t remember any contract with the man. But he was a Guardian after all, a man of honor and good will.

“Ahhh yes, the, the modules.” He said, guilty about his poor memory. He shuffled around in his inventory and placed two modules on the kiosk counter.

“Thank you Banshee, I’m so glad to have met you in that alleyway.”

“Umm, alleyway? There are no alleys in the tower…”

“THE ALLEYWAY BANSHEE, HOW CAN YOU NOT REMEMBER?”

Banshee flinched. He could not compete with the sheer intensity of the claim. The Exo was so uncertain of his memories, over the years he had begun to lose confidence and doubt himself more and more. And the man was so certain, so _sure_.

“S… sorry my memory’s not what it used to be.”

“Do you not remember the alleyway?” the Guardian shook his head in disdain. He had quickly identified a source of shame. All that remained was to twist the knife. “After I nearly died rescuing you from those thugs?”

“I’m sorry, I just… umm…” Banshee struggled against the new, false reality as it was forced over his own, like a sock over a snitching Ghost.

“Don’t worry about it, just thank your stars I was there! I’m sure Zavala will catch those highwaymen soon. Those rogues can’t harm MY gunsmith and get away with it!”

“Thank you… I guess.” Banshee needed to sit down. He hoped the man would leave soon.

“I’ll be seeing you Banshee.” The Guardian smiled, waved and turned to leave. Banshee was embarrassed, and although he was grateful to the Guardian for apparently saving him, something in his machinery was just glad the encounter was over.

The Guardian paused then turned around.

“Oh Banshee, I hate to say this, but I paid for _three_ modules. I know your memory isn’t… what it used to be.” The Guardian smiled his dangerous smile, like a lion licking its chops at a sick, elderly gazelle.

“Oh yes, of course.” Banshee gave him another module. “Guess I need to build some more then….”

The Guardian finally left Banshee to his shop, throwing the sock to the floor. The old gunsmith stared at the sky for an untold number of minutes. A customer came up to him and asked for some bounty or other, but got no response from the feeble minded clerk. Banshee flipped over the smithy sign from _open_ to _closed_ , and walked despondent back into the workshop.

Although he would certainly forget the incident, the complex feelings he experienced during his first encounter with the Hunter would stay with him forever. They were ingrained in the primordial, fight or flight areas of his mind. It would be days before he would reopen.

The Ghost had finally wriggled itself free. He managed to cobble together his senses. He tried to follow the Guardian when he was ‘let free’ of the sock. Oh how he would come to fear the dreaded sock. But he flew in discombobulated loops, too dizzy to keep up with his Guardian.

“Wait! Wait for me!” The Ghost pleaded desperately. The Hunter disappeared into the throngs of merchants and Guardians who populated the Tower. _Darn it! I can’t lose him!_

The Ghost lost him.

For two days and nights the Ghost could not find his Chosen. The machine’s mindstate grew progressively manic as he asked Guardian after Guardian if they had seen hide or hair of the new Hunter. Unfortunately there was not much to go on. 

_I can’t even find him through our neural-symbiosis._ The link allowed Ghosts insight into their Guardian’s emotions and feelings, but it also gave them a sort of pracausal GPS, once their Chosen was resurrected that is. _It’s like he dropped off the map!_ He looked out over the Last City. His Guardian could be anywhere in that vast network of infrastructure. The Ghost was calculating possible routes the Guardian may have taken through the hustle and bustle of the metropolis. He stared at highways and skyscrapers all under the shadow of the Traveler. The Ghost could see for miles with how high up he was.

_...Dropped off the map… Oh god._

The Ghost spent most of the afternoon zooming around the base of the massive Tower, searching for the corpse of his Guardian. Nothing. There were an odd number of _jumpers_ listed over the battle-net lately. It was a highly discouraged, but relatively common practice for more gritty Guardians to relieve their stress by launching themselves into the City below. Primarily they were exos wishing to experience just a moment of their previous lives. The numbers in the past few days were significantly higher than average, and disproportionately human, but none of the reports seemed to match his Guardian. So the Ghost gave it no further thought.

_If he’s shut off the neural link, either he’s the first Guardian able to manifest such an ability, dead, or off planet._ He spun in circles, his mania reached levels of panic he’d never experienced before. Not even in lonely moments when he had considered that his partner's corpse would never be found and that his quest would be left eternally unfinished. After all, having something given to you and then taken away was worse than never having it at all.

He visited the hangers on the horrible off chance his Guardian had chosen to leave the Tower without him. Thinking back on the Hunter’s complete disregard for him, it was a possibility.

“Ain’t seen him since he dropped off the jumpship. Got her fixed up proper, so when you do find him let him know Holliday sends her regards, but not her bill.” The handshake thieving wench told him. She smiled comfortingly.

No dice. 

He searched the dark corners of the Tower for the rest of the day, going so far as to talk with the last person he ever wanted to meet.

“Be careful little lightbulb,” The Drifter warned, “there’s darkness that’s come to this Tower these past few days. And I’m not talking about my harmless self.” The Drifter chuckled ominously. The Ghost did not like the Drifter. His miasma of Darkness made the Ghost sick and the words about a recent arrival of evil in the Tower just increased his paranoia. 

He continued to ask around through the night, but few Guardians utilized the Tower in the wee hours. Most were asleep. The Ghost checked all the benches until the first light of the sun crawled over the far walls. 

A massive, horned warrior took his place bright and early at the edge of the Tower. His chest was puffed out, with one hand on his hip and the other clutching a cup of coffee. He sipped the beverage through a long straw sewn through the bottom of his helmet.

“YOU Ghost. Lost your newly awoken Guardian eh? WHAT A BLUNDER!” Shaxx's laugh nearly blew the Ghost away with his enormous customary volume. “I put up with a lot for my job, so I don’t have time to look for the new blood.” The Ghost pointed his single eyeball to the floor.

“That’s alright Shaxx, I—- I guess I’ll keep looking.”

Shaxx was at his heart a kind soul. He couldn’t let the Ghost down completely. “I like you Ghost, pitiful, not unlike my dodgeball team.” The Ghost couldn’t see through the helmet but a smile came to his face, thinking about the team of orphan children he’d coached to oblivion. “So I can make time to scour the Crucible registry for new Hunters with low Light levels, unfortunately we don’t allow unregistered Guardians participate. So I’m not likely to find him.”

“You… you would?!” The Ghost perked up. It was a possibility that his Hunter had gone to Ikora or Zavala and registered behind his back. _OOOOOHHHH he’d better not have!_ The Ghost’s worry turned to insecure anger.

“Of course, CHUM! Though you should check with Ikora or Zavala. She tries to welcome all the new recruits on an unofficial basis, and his office handles all the paperwork. 

“I’ll ask around the Vanguard, thank you, thank you so much!” Shaxx smacked the Ghost to the floor, forgetting that the Ghost had no back to slap. He bounced pathetically. 

“Oh, sorry CHUM! Don’t know my own strength!”

He found Ikora standing in a circle of yellow tape, dusting for footprints. Over a half dozen frames stood guard over the crime scene. He felt a sinking feeling. _What if he’s been killed!_

The Ghost was a stickler for rules, but his mounting anxiety forced him to buzz over the yellow boundary.

“Excuse me, Ikora?” He said, his voice shaking without confidence.

“What is it Ghost, you’re trespassing on a crime scene.”

“I’m so sorry, but I’ve been missing my Guardian and was searching for you. He’s a new recruit and when I saw you at a crime scene…. Well I was taken with fear at the chance something might have happened to him!”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She said. The Ghost could see dark rings under her eyes and the slight jitter of a caffeine addiction. “But I haven’t had time to meet recruits for the past few days. I’ve been tied up with this investigation.”

“I hate to— “ 

“No Ghost, none of the victims were new recruits. Other than being AWOL, seems like your Guardian’s safe. At least from _The Tower Pusher_.” 

“Wait, _victims_? As in more than one? And what is a _Pusher?_ ”

Ikora rubbed her temples. She hadn’t slept last night. “Since you’re new here I suggest you check the battle-net for security updates.”

“I’m sorry, I was only searching the net for suicides and lost connections, I was embarrassingly focused.” The Ghost felt a degree of shame at harassing the clearly drained legend.

“What? Suicides? And lost connections? … Like on the romance channels?”

“My Guardian is… a bit odd. I wasn’t sure what he might do to himself being lost and alone. And yes, the romance channels. I was… desperate.”

Ikora laughed, feeling a bit sorry for the machine. 

“Alright I’ll fill you in, just once.” She winked. “Since the day before yesterday, we had reports of people falling off the Tower. Unfortunately this is not uncommon, but these cases were different. Every single one of them was _pushed_.”

The Ghost shivered. _Perhaps this was the Darkness the Drifter was talking about?_ “That’s horrible!” 

“It’s very disturbing. Sure, all of the victims were Guardians, so no harm done… but what type of monster gets off on tormenting others like this?”

“Surely there are clues, something on the Tower’s security cams or one of the Guardians can tell you who pushed them? A serial murdering case where victims could report their own murderer should be cut and dry!”

“YOU WOULD THINK.” Ikora side eyed a Guardian at the edge of the tape. He waved to her.

“It was here, right here I was pushed!” He yelled.

“Yes Toby, I am FULLY aware you utter buffoon.” She glared at him as he looked down in shame.

“Nothing on cams,” she said to the Ghost, “and all the Guardians who were pushed were either facing the other way, drunk, or in one case,” again she looked to Toby, “had a large sock shoved over their head from behind.” 

“Blinding them and then pushing them to their deaths, how awful.” The Ghost knew the horrors of the sock treatment. Perhaps due to his fragile mental state and heightened emotions, he had not put the evidence together. There was only a smidgeon of fear looming over him as his unconscious processes crept ahead in detective work.

Her eyes narrowed at the crime. “The worst part is, many of the victims were skilled veterans. Not your average warriors. Even Toby has over a hundred wins in the Crucible. A fool, but a ‘sweaty’ fool. The killer had to be a Guardian with great talent and a psych profile of extremely low empathy. Probably stacked in mobility.”

The Ghost felt a sudden and desperate need to leave the conversation. He began to speak rapidly “Yes, it _has_ to be a great and powerful, very experienced Guardian. With lots of combat hours. Nobody could do such a thing without, at least a thousand Crucible wins I’d say. That should narrow it down for you. Yes, yes yes only those who have killed for many, many years would be capable of such a heinous crime.”

“That’s what I was thinking, but why now? Why start killing only now? If they’ve been around for years…” 

“..... I have to go.” The Ghost turned from Ikora and slowly began speeding up. She called to him, and he stopped in his tracks.

“Good luck finding your Guardian, spirit of the light.”

“Yes… thank you.” The Ghost said without anything that resembled spirit, and fled.

He bumbled along without much thought or in any general direction. The data matched up. The Ghost added but another firewall to his memory system. All his knowledge of The Tower Pusher was put under lock and key. 

Perhaps intentionally, perhaps not, he had aimlessly made his way to Zavala’s office. The massive stores of Light which emanated from the great Vanguard warrior may have been the culprit. In times where Ghosts were in need of comfort, they often turned towards the Light.

And the Light did not fail him. 

There, before him in the registry line was his rusty, blood covered Guardian. His Chosen. He zoomed forwards unable to believe his luck, and nuzzled into the Guardian’s neck.

He was swatted away like a fly. _Like a fly…_ The Ghost whimpered internally.

Still, the Guardian was alive. And in slightly better condition than before! He sported new, shiny grieves and a large bow. No vendors sold armor at the Tower. The Ghost chose to quit while he was ahead and did not question where the gear had come from.

"Huh. You've been busy, I see. Correction: you've been busy without me. I don't know how I feel about that." The Ghost said. He was acknowledged, but for a moment, with a thumbs up. _Why you!_ “I have been searching everywhere for you, I was distraught! And this is the _thanks_ I get for worrying myself sick?! After reviving you from death?! After the eternity we spent in the Hive nest? After the Fallen? AFTER THE KNEECAPS!? After you abandoned Shaw Han?!” The Guardian rolled his eyes, but put his hands up in a conciliatory gesture.

“As long as you understand, and make an effort to treat me with some respect!”

The Ghost huffed and puffed, still upset. His anger was abating however, as he saw that his Guardian had taken active steps to solidify himself as a legitimate defender of humanity. He was in Zavala’s registry office and was holding both a clipboard of paperwork and a numbered ticket in his hands. _How angry can I be? He’s clearly remorseful—_ the Guardian scratched his bum _— and perhaps he was just as lost as I was?_

“Number 88” a secretary called out.

The Guardian walked to the counter.

The secretary smiled at him. “Have you figured out your name Guardian?”

The Guardian spoke to the secretary. Actually spoke to her. The Ghost’s strong feelings of inadequacy pushed him back into a manic depression.

“Try this on for size. Last name D, first name Langston. Middle initial, Huge.”

The secretary began typing then stopped. She took a moment to comprehend the Guardian’s phrasing, her eyes searched for meaning that she was sure she had missed.

“So…. Langston. Huge. D?”

“Exactly Miss.” Langston said, smiling and waving a finger emphatically. If Langston’s Ghost could raise a single, disbelieving eyebrow, he would. The name was a misnomer at best. The Ghost knew his Guardian’s full… _capacity_ after the many post-mortem… well. After the incident in space.

The secretary scrambled for words. “Ummmmm… let me talk to the Commander.”

Out came an enormous awoken, pale as he was bureaucratic. His voice as seductive and sultry as his shoulders were broad and powerful.

“My name is Zavala Guardian, hail and I'm pleased to meet you. Always a pleasure to meet a new champion of the light. What seems to be the problem?”

The secretary pointed to Langston’s form. Zavala read. He raised his eyebrows. “Oh… I see. This is listed as a censored name. Unfortunately Mr… D?”

“Please, please Commander. Mr. Huge is fine.”

“Unfortunately Mr. Huge, we Guardians have to set an example. We’re the last bastion holding humanity safe against the powers of darkness. Against the immense alien threat that keeps civilians afraid at night, we are their light. We must be dignified. Strong. You’ll have to pick a different name. As luck would have it, Langston Hughes was a renowned old earth poet, who strove for equality in the days of….”

Langston snatched up the form and scribbled in a new name, pen jammed in his fist the way a toddler holds their first crayon. He handed it triumphantly to Zavala.

Zavala sighed “Ok… Mr. …. Hugs. Langston… Hugs.” He took a moment to size up the Guardian. “Welcome aboard.”

Zavala’s radio buzzed. It was Shaw Han.

“Commander, we need a strike team! Quickly, we had a plan, a plan I swear. There was superconductor we could have used to kill Navota—” 

“Slow down Guardian, you have a lot of nerve calling the Vanguard after what you did to your fireteam. What’s this about Navota?”

“He left us behind! The newbie! We’ve died, so MANY TIMES.” Shaw’s sanity was clearly undone. “We need that superconductor!”

Langston stood there, watching the Tower’s dirty laundry aired before him. He felt not an ounce of responsibility.

“Ok Guardian Han, this is your last chance. I’m sending the best of the best. Madame Secretary, call up… Jabes.”

“Heh, you mean ‘Fire Wolf’ Commander?”

Zavala groaned, visibly cringing. “Not the time Doris.”

“Right away Commander. Connecting… Fire Wolf is on line 2.” For whatever reason, she also put HR on speed dial.

“Shaw I’m giving you _the_ Guardian. He’ll kill Navota for you. All I need from you is to give him the details. I’m not sure you can do even that anymore. Don’t. Fail. Again.”

Langston spoke up. “This Shaw fellow certainly sounds like an irresponsible, _punishable_ individual.”

Zavalla felt no need to mute the radio, Han deserved ridicule.

“He is indeed Mr. Hugs. Very punishable indeed.”

They could hear Shaw gulp through the radio. Line 2 crackled to life. The robotic voice of an exo came from the phone. “What was that? Punish? Punish Shaw Han? Well Zavala if you say so!”

Zavala turned paler than before, his whiteness only rivaled by cave dwelling fish. “No, Jabes! We need you to kill a Hive wizard named Navota in the Cosmodrome.”

“Yes, and then punish Shaw Han. I understand.”

Zavala shouted into the phone, panicked, “NO! PLEASE, I WAS ANGRY, I DIDN’T MEAN IT! HE’S JUST A BOY!”  
“Too late, no backsies, hands tied. Don’t worry your pretty bald dome Zavala. I’ll handle everything. Won’t I, Shaw?”

Shaw wished that he had muted the mic. So did everyone else. They heard the unmistakable squelch of freshly soiled trousers.

Langston took his leave. The Tower was better than he had expected.


	3. What is my name? A Tale of Theft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghost has found his Guardian! The sad machine finally asks the question foremost on his mind... what is his name? The Guardian's answer was not what he expected. They continue through the Tower, attempting to rob others. In the process, they meets Shaax and the most powerful Guardian of all time. THE Guardian. Jabes, the Fire Wolf.

“Guardian, what is my name?” The Ghost said as they walked away from the registry. He had summoned his courage to ask the question foremost on his mind since the day he was born of the Traveler.

Unexpectedly, Langston paused and put his thumb and forefinger to his chin. “An apt question. I’m sorry but I didn’t give it any thought up until now.” He looked pensive. 

Ghost was surprised, shocked even. Frankly, he hadn’t expected to be acknowledged on his first attempt. But he was willing to fight his Guardian on this. It was too important to him.

Langston snapped his fingers, “I have your name! And It’s a good one.”

The Ghost waited with baited breath. Or at least the nearest simulated equivalent. The Guardian looked pleased with himself. But after a second he continued to meander about the Tower plaza.

“Yes?” the Ghost asked. 

No response. 

“Yes, yes yes!? What is it?” He pleaded desperately. Langston sighed and rubbed his temples. “Come on now, tell me!” The Ghost was too excited to be bothered by the teasing. 

“Tell you… what exactly?”

“My name! You came up with ‘a good one’, I can barely wait!”

“You can wait a bit longer.”

“No, no I can’t! Tell me tell me tell me TELL ME!” The Ghost bobbed emphatically in frustration.

“Food first, conversation later.”

“CONVERSATION NOW!!” He screamed. 

“With that level of disobedience, much later. You obstinate lugnut.”

“LUGNUT?!”

Langston smiled. He controlled what he sought in nearly every relationship, the other’s sense of self worth. He took to grinding it into dust. “A type of fastener, it secures wheels to vehicles. A set of lugnuts is typically used to secure a wheel to threaded wheel studs and thereby to a vehicle's  [ axles ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Axles) — ”

“I KNOW WHAT A LUGNUT IS. THAT CAN’T BE MY NAME?!” The Ghost’s yelling was turning heads.

“You don’t have a name. It certainly isn’t related to the noble lugnut, the most useful of nuts. No, it was unfair of me to compare you to such an industrious fastener. Where would society be without wheels, and the axles to which they are fastened?”

“I’m not even as good as a lugnut?” Ghost’s mind was filled with attempts to calculate the societal utility of lugnuts versus literal paracausal immortality when he stopped. Unlike all of Langston’s other victims, Ghost had seen his handiwork performed first hand. He burst with defiant light, “No, I’m getting distracted, you’re doing to me what you did to Ban—”

Langston scarfed down a handful of almonds he’d stolen from a beggar down the street, “Definitely not as good as a lugnut.” 

“I’ll let that pass, what do you mean that I don’t have a name? You just said you made one?”

“I have one cooked up, but you haven’t  _ earned _ it yet.”

“I haven't?! …...OOOOOOHHHH!” The Ghost boiled over with rage, red light seeped from its chassis. “How did you earn  _ your _ name then!”

“I didn't, I took my name for myself. You are asking someone to  _ give _ you a name.”

“But it’s important to me that my Guardian gives me my name… I dreamed about it for years and years.”

“Yes yes yes, you sad little box-nail.”

“Downgraded to a  _ BOX-NAIL?! _ ”

Langston tripped a blind man as he made his way to the stairs, almonds in hand, “The screw is a marvelous invention, we owe the screw so much. People have this strange idea that nails are a carpenter’s best friend, but can you remember the last time you saw a nail on a piece of professionally carpented furniture? You can’t, because the nail is completely superannuated by Archimedes’ great invention.”

Ghost tried to resist Langston’s perfect cruelty, annihilating his self worth, one tool at a time. But like all of Langston’s other victims, Ghost was no match for his sociopathy. 

“I think… I think I need to cry,” Ghost muttered.

“What a pitiful attitude, a box-nail truly worthy of a name would rise to the occasion!”

“What… what do I need to do to earn a name?”

“Something magnificent enough to match the great name I’ve thought of.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?”

“Because, wingnut—” 

“W..wingnut.” The Ghost was despondent.

“Because you asked to be  _ given _ something. Nothing in this universe can be given. Only  _ taken _ . Only when you  _ take _ your name from me, through proving your worth and valor, will you be worthy of a name.”

The Ghost had heard this ‘logic’ before in the archives. Crota. Oryx. Savathun.  _ The parallels… please let it be a coincidence. _

“I will, I will earn my name. Just you wait! You’ll see the greatest Ghost in action!” The nameless Ghost bristled with determination.

“I’m sure you will continue to meet my expectations.” Langston said, deliberately ambiguous to whether a backhand existed in the compliment. By now they were standing before Shaxx. The Crucible master towered over them like a man over a toddler.

“CONGRATULATIONS! Little Ghost, you’ve found your partner!” He bellowed. 

“Yes, he was getting registered by Zavala.”

“All’s WELL and GOOD then.” Shaxx threw a thumbs up in their direction. “What are you doing Guardian?” Shaxx asked Langston, who was circling him in a crouch. The Hunter said nothing, but continued around Shaxx, carefully inching closer. The Ghost was embarrassed,  _ Why is he so weird? _

Quick as lightning Langston plunged his hand towards Shaxx’s buttox, and the wallet dangling from his rear pocket. The speed was ungodly, forged by an intimate relationship with the Light and his innate talents as a pickpocket. 

In the next moment, Shaxx held the Guardian’s arm aloft. It was torn from its socket.

“Guardian, I know I’m as attractive as they come! But you can’t stick your hands at the legendary ASS OF SHAXX without his permission!”

The Hunter narrowed his eyes, this was going to be a challenge. His first  _ true _ challenge. He dropped to one knee and swept his arm around Shaxx’s waist, his fingers extended to the point where the joints popped.

THWACK!

A wet smack resounded throughout the courtyard as Langston was beaten to the ground by his own arm.

THWACK!

THWACK!

THWACK!

The beating did not stop. Shaxx mercilessly bore into the Guardian until even he was out of breath. “I hope I’ve made my point clear, Guardian. NO TOUCHING.”

Langston’s face was a bloody pulp, his chestplate was crushed in. His legs gave out. 

_ Holy heck!  _ The Ghost thought at the massacre before him. Before the gravity of his partner’s shame hit him, he felt a bit humbled.  _ So this is the difference between my Guardian and a legend. _ Maybe Langston would approach Shaxx’s level one day. But he wasn’t even close to ready to challenge him yet.

Langston frothed blood at the mouth. Rage pooled at the corners of his eyes. He struggled to get up, but couldn’t stand on his broken legs. Between spurts of blood, he mouthed “Ghost, it’s your time to shine.” And he slit his own throat with a knife. The Ghost reacted before he could even think, he summoned the Guardian back from death in a pool of paracausal energy.

Before the light had dissipated Langston had flung himself onto Shaxx with his new functioning limbs, riding his back like a monkey clings to a warthog.

“You TENACIOUS SCAMP!” Shaxx laughed at what he thought was an attempted fondling. He pinned Langston's legs to his waist with one great arm. Langston reached over Shaxx’s shoulder in a desperate attempt to grasp the wallet. But his arm too, Shaxx pinned. Langston’s nose broke as Shaxx swung his head backwards. “Prepare yourself!” Shaxx yelled.

He jumped 12 feet into the air assisted by his titan jetpack and kicked his legs out from under him. Langston squelched into a puddle of guts as Shaxx landed with his full mass on top of him. 

“Hrgghhgh,” Langston struggled to pull breath into his collapsed lungs.

“I’m sorry Guardian, but you must learn your lesson.” Shaxx said, standing over the broken newbie. Langston raised his arm in defiance towards the wallet. A pitiful display, but earnest. The horned Guardian sighed. “So, it’s like this is it…” He stomped down on Langston's face, forcing another revive.

“Young Hunter, I appreciate the notion. Thousands wish to touch my GLORIOUS GLUTES. But I’m not interested.” Shaxx looked at his wrist, where a watch would be, if he had been wearing one. Langston tried to jump and discombobulate Shaxx from the air, but the Titan grabbed the Hunter by the ankle and lobbed him over the Tower railing in a single fluid motion. Another revive. 

“My time is short Guardian, and you clearly have a lot to learn about romance.” Shaxx was enveloped in light, “AS DO WE ALL! It is for this reason I must go.” He was enveloped in light. Shaxx was gone, teleported away. Only the words — “Mara Sov waits for no man” — were left echoing behind.

“The… the wallet.” Langston whispered, he slammed his fist to the ground. He slouched over a bench, inconsolable. The Ghost didn’t know what to do, his Guardian had assaulted one of the most revered champions in the Tower, and gotten exactly what he deserved for it.  _ But the wallet was clearly important to him _ . Ghost wanted to pat him on the back. But alas… no hands. “There will be more… wallets. It’s ok partner.”

Langston swatted his Ghost away, “You have no  _ RIGHT _ to call me that, Thumb-tack! WHERE WERE YOU WHEN I NEEDED YOU MOST?”

“I was REVIVING you!”

“Could you have not whisked the wallet into my inventory?” The man’s desperation was hard to watch. 

“I’m just trying to be helpful!” The Ghost said, finally sticking up for himself. The Guardian sighed.

“Perhaps, perhaps you’re right, box-nail.”

_ Yes! Upgraded back to box-nail. _

“I assumed you would know the basic priorities, but it seems like that was too much to ask. This time, the blame falls on me,” Langston said. 

_ Is he actually apologizing? _

“That however, will not save you from the sock.” The Ghost’s light drained of color. “Just as it was my responsibility to tell you to prioritize the wallet, so was it your error for not understanding its value. In fact —” He trailed off, his attention stolen by a loud group of people.

They were cheering, crowded around a trio of Guardians coming from the hanger bay. In the center was a Warlock with the shiniest armor, his hands outstretched in confident acceptance of the crowd’s praise. Behind him walked the two other Guardians in far shabbier gear. They kept pace, heads down in silence. No one seemed to notice them.

“That Ghost,  _ that  _ is a man with a wallet,” Langston whispered, his mouth salivating at the thought of theft. Ghost panicked. He knew of the Warlock who returned. If stealing Shaxx’s wallet went poorly, then this was sure to be a catastrophe, if for no other reason than  _ collateral damage. _

“Langston, please, let’s just go on a few quests... and... steal Cabal wallets!” Ghost pleaded. No response. The Hunter was already stalking through the crowd, nimbly shifting from one angle to the next. Soon, he was behind the Warlock. His wallet made a slight indent in his robes. Target sighted. Langston pounced, sure of his mark.

A Ghost covered in white with two miniature horns atop its frame appeared beside the Warlock. “INCOMING BOSS!” the machine shouted.

With the speed of a thousand practiced war crimes the Warlock spun around and muttered a single word, “Unibeam.”

Langston didn’t entirely understand what happened after that. There was a booming noise, a flash of light, and then suddenly he was revived on the other side of the plaza. There was a fiery hole through two walls between where he was now and where he used to be. Langston turned his head and saw the same molten hole lead all the way to the hangar, where thousands of pounds of glimmer worth of property damage had taken place. His Ghost poked him the head, clearly alarmed, “Are you ok!”

Langston spat in the robot’s eye, “Again, you did nothing. You just  _ watched _ . Disgusting.” He rushed back to the center of the plaza, leaving Ghost behind in a puddle of his own self loathing.   
Several members of the gathered crowd were doubled over in pain, their hands clutched their faces as they shouted, “MY EYES! IM BLIND!” The Warlock stood with his hands at his hips, “And that folks, is why you always steal from the poor. Because the rich have magic.” The crowd applauded his nonsense, enthralled with the legend before them. The Warlock’s Ghost rushed Langston, bursting with furious light.

“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU IS, WISE GUY?!” He shouted in an inexplicable Long Island accent. “DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU'RE DEALING WITH, JABRONI?!”

Langston was taken aback. He had yet to meet a Ghost with true gumption, and like most, he had never been called a jabroni before. The machine went on, “YOU'RE LUCKY THE BOSS DIDN’T FIT YOU AND YA’ GHOST IN CEMENT SHOES! The Boss is a merciful god.” The Ghost rolled over in anger. 

Langston’s mind immediately defaulted to his second tactic, gaslighting. What he should have done to Shaxx and this powerful Guardian from the beginning. “Presumptuous of you, little lugnut— ”

His own Ghost screamed “HE’S LUGNUT STATUS?”

“— presumptuous of you to speak for your God. Are any of us  _ capable _ of understanding such complex thoughts? The magnanimousness of his word, you pretend to understand it better than he himself?! You might as well call yourself a God!”

“No! I… I wouldn’t dare!”

“BUT YOU DARED.”

“No! G..go suck on a lemon!” The horned Ghost stuttered as his reality came under siege.

“The moment you stepped in, you robbed him of the chance to chastise his assailant. You robbed him of the glory of catching the scoundrel himself. How much of his acclaim must you  _ theive  _ before you are satisfied!”

The Ghost was unsure of himself “I’m his right hand, he… the boss trusts me with— 

Langston raised a finger at the sky, and dramatically lowered it until it pointed directly at the Ghosts eye. “YOU! In your piety trampled upon his rights! Pretending to be as powerful, no, ABOVE your master? Your hubris disgusts me.” Langston held his hand to his nose as if confronted with a powerful stench.

The little horned Ghost before him quailed.

He flew back to the Warlock and prostrated himself at his master’s feet. “FORGIVE ME FIRE WOLF! I’m just a pitiful goombah, not worthy to shine ya slacks! Sweet, preeminent capo dei capi, Don of Dons, I ain’t worthy... I AIN’T WORTHY!”

Langston smiled, his work complete. Now this was a Ghost who knew his place. Langston’s own robotic companion caught up with him and he scowled. Now for the real threat. The Warlock boomed, his distorted voice clearly that of an exo.

“You’re right to grovel my friend. I forgive your presumption. Rise.” The Warlock raised his arms, and in synchronicity with the motion, he began to float in the air. The horned Ghost joined his master above the plebians as the crowd applauded and cheered louder than ever, clearly unaware that flying was the simplest thing a Warlock could do. The Exo floated over to Langston.    
“Greetings, peasant,” Fire Wolf said. “Thank you for keeping him in his place. His passion for my reverence can be a burden, but it is a burden I admire. I pardon you for your utter foolishness as well.”

Langston twisted his lips, unsure what to say or do that would secure him this man’s wallet. He chose to lean further into the gaslight, “You’d better remember your place, you little thumb-tack!” He said to the horned Ghost. The machine burst in fury.

“I SHALL BE ADDRESSED BY MY TITLE!”

Fire Wolf nodded, “Ah yes, introductions. I am Jabes, the Fire Wolf, greatest Guardian who ever lived or ever shall live, praise be my name. And this is my faithful Ghost, Knight Commander Snowball, first, but probably not last of his name, and champion of the Light.”

Langston’s Ghost was rocked to the very core. “He has a name?” He whispered. “You have a name?”

“But of course,” Knight Commander Snowball said. “Fire Wolf gave it to me on our first mission. What kind of sad, spiteful, hideous, corrupt, sinful, WASTE of a Ghost doesn’t have a name.”

“My thoughts exactly, little lugnut,” Langston said through the side of his mouth. His Ghost dropped to the ground.

“Who is you callin’ a lugnut!? I am Knight Com— “

Langston’s Ghost couldn’t take it anymore. “TAKE LUGNUT AND BE HAPPY! So many others would KILL for that name!” 

“Silence knave!” Jabes interjected at Langston's Ghost. “Knight Commander Snowball, you mustn’t forget the utility of the noble lugnut.”

“But Boss, you gave me my name! He’s not giving me my rightful acclaim!”

“Backtalk?!” Fire Wolf glared at his Ghost. Knight Commander Snowball lowered himself without a moment’s hesitation.

“Never boss!” Snowball fell silent.

Langston looked at the obedient Ghost, and then to his own. Filled with shame. “You can’t do anything right.” He said jealousy.

“Well Guardian I’m not one to hold a grudge. Except against the old-guard, the newbies, crucible teammates, crucible opponents, the hive, the fallen, fallen orphans... well, let’s just say you have amused me mildly with your silver tongue. You would do well to remember my magnanimous words and from now on, steal only from the poor and defenseless.”

Langston knew he was beat. But only for now. He expected Jabes to continue on his way. But he did not, only standing stubbornly in the same spot.

“BEGONE PEASANT!” The Fire Wolf boomed. So Langston stood back ten feet or so. “NOT BEGONE ENOUGH!” The legendary Guardian yelled again. 

Commander Snowball too was one to hold a grudge, “that’s right, the whole Tower’s da bosses turf! You go where he says you goes.” So Langston stepped back another five feet. “Do you want to burn up again from Chaos?” The horned machine chuckled maliciously.

“That’s enough Knight Commander Snowball. He has BEGONED the required distance to please me.” Jabes turned to the two meak guardians he kept in tow. “We must report our glorious conquest of Novota, and the even more crucial conquest of Shaw Han’s dignity to Zavala, come knaves!” The Guardians were gaunt, exhausted and quite possibly starved. Their destroyed armor and quaking knees stood in contrast to Jabe’s polished gear and confident pose. The poor abused Guardians stumbled forwards, but one collapsed to the ground. “Stand you mongrel! I shan't be seen with a groundling!” Jabes kicked at the broken man. But to no avail. He didn’t even have enough strength to flinch anymore. “You have failed the entrance examination for the Fuzz clan, like so many before you. BEGONE!” He waited expectantly for the examinee to leave, who only quivered uselessly on the floor.

Jabes sighed. “A shame. It appears you cannot even do that correctly. KNIGHT COMMANDER SNOWBALL!” He yelled.

“What is it boss?”

“Repossess his armor! The mods are needed for new examinees.” 

“Yes my liege.” The Ghost stripped the Guardian of his wear by funneling it into Jabes inventory, leaving him in briefs on the cold Tower floor.

“This leaves us in a pickle, doesn’t it Examinee 2.” Jabes put his hands on his hips. “Technically three Guardians are required for a Strike, though we could make do by slaying Xol with just us two. You’re going to have to step up your game!” He sized up ‘Examinee 2’ who had yet to collapse on the floor. The examinee looked as though he was slowly losing the fight against gravity, but in him was some dogged determination to join Jabes’ clan, or more likely, fear of what failing the Fire Wolf would mean to his person. So he stood on his shaking legs.

“Perhaps not.” Jabes sighed. “In my infinite wisdom, I believe a second examinee might be needed to pick up your slack.” He narrowed his eyes.  _ But where to find such a man. _

He would let Zavala solve this problem. Besides, he had to talk to the bald Vanguard anyways. Zavala was, to be certain, always hesitant of sending Guardians to their emotional deaths, but when push came to shove he needed the results Jabes could offer. Zavala was forced to routinely play the Trolley Cart problem. Give Jabes Guardians to break, or let the forces of evil destroy the last bastion of humanity. Ultimately it was no choice, Zavala was responsible for the Last City first and foremost. He had to play the utilitarian. 

The souls of a hundred Guardians he’d sacrificed to Jabes’ inhumane treatment haunted him in the wee hours of the night. 

He turned on his heels and strode towards Zavala’s office. Examinee 2 fell in behind him.

And Langston as well, careful to maintain a 15 foot distance. 

“What are you doing?” His Ghost asked. “We could have been killed, permanently! That’s the Fire Wolf himself. I wouldn’t put it past him to incinerate both of us.”

“Surely not, he’s the legendary Guardian.  _ The  _ Guardian. Even I know that. The civilians had nothing but praise for him!”

The Ghost was frustrated, Langston had learned a lot about the state of the world in his few days AWOL. “Don’t believe the legends, horrible rumors circulate in the Towers weekly about him. They say he alone is responsible for 30% of the attrition rate for Guardians, that’s higher than both the Fallen and Cabal! COMBINED!”

“Again you disappoint me nameless box nail.” Langston whispered, so as not to be heard by the infamous Exo. “A Guardian that prolific must have endless funds. I saw the bulge of his wallet with my own eyes. It was as enormous as I expected.”

“As you expected?!”

“From the moment I heard the legends from my orphan network—” 

“ORPHAN NETWORK?”

“From the moment those rascals laid his mythos before me, I knew who my real target was.” Langston looked forlorn. “But I couldn’t even rob Shaxx. Sometimes I feel like I’m in over my head.”

“It’s good to acknowledge your own weakness, partner.” The Ghost refused to give up on the word, it was how he referred to the Guardian in his fantasies for the past millennia. “After some well deserved introspection, it would be best for us to at least loosely follow the paths of other Guardians. Your Light level is still low, we need to get you equipment.” Langston was silent, but he did not stop following Jabes. “Maybe, maybe MAYBE when you reach the limits of how much Light you can obtain, you can… try again.”

“I hold both of us to the same standards.” 

“Yes, I too will strive to become better through careful introspection and practice.”

“That’s not what I mean. Just as I expect you to take your name through great deeds, I too must struggle for what I most desire.” A vision of a leather wallet, bursting at the seams with cash filled his mind. “I can’t call myself Langston Hugs if I give up now.”

Jabes banged on Zavala’s door. The Commander opened it, grimaced, then gestured for the legend to come inside and sat down at his desk. Jabes planted himself in the chair opposite Zavala.

“What have you done Jabes?” Zavala asked, his voice a gravelly whisper.

“Please Zavala, my title is the Fire Wolf.”

“ _ Jabes _ , yes you killed Navota. This I acknowledge. But the reports… How did your charges have over 600 revives apiece, when you did not die a single time?!”

“My greatness has been the study of many scientists and philosophers, in fact it is the only thing in creation beyond my own comprehension. As for my sla — *ahem*, companions, they were initiates for the noble clan of Fuzz. Needless to say they did not make the grade, although this one will try again.” He pointed to Examinee 2. No sound escaped the man's lips while tears streamed over his cheeks.

“And what of Shaw Han! I’ve called him three times, each he just wept uncontrollably and muttered “Everyone leaves” on repeat before he hung up. WHAT. DID. YOU. DO.” 

“I only did what you asked me, Zavala.” Jabes brows were furrowed, he did not understand.

Langston used the distraction to creep up next to Examinee 2.

Jabes went on, “I heard from you and some rare, well-minded bureaucrat over the coms that Shaw Han’s day of reckoning had come. And I was cleared to deliver it! And ooh how I delivered it.”

“I specifically asked you not to! And that wasn’t a member of the Vanguard office, it was just some— YOU! It was you!” Zavala pointed towards Langston, recognizing him. His eyes darted back and forth. Zavala was a man of honor, and almost always took responsibility for his actions. But no matter what he seemed to do, Jabes’ ethical bankruptcy put him in a position where he was complicit in one atrocity or another. In his moment of weakness he clinged to the new Guardian as a moral scapegoat. 

“Little old me? I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” Langston replied, poised to gaslight yet another Guardian into utter oblivion. 

Zavala lost his cool “You are responsible for this mix-up, YOU were the one at the office who told Jabes to reduce Shaw Han’s mind to ashes!” 

Jabes side-eyed the Hunter. “Is this true? You were the kind soul who allowed me to exact my divine justice on the weak man?” 

Langston took a gamble, the best gamble of his life.

“Yes. It was I. I had seen Shaw’s incompetence with my own eyes, and hearing you on the radio I was overwhelmed with a sense of relief. Surely, the righteous Jabes Fire Wolf could fix this problem. Only you had the skill, the smitening power to bring Han to his current, desirable state. A state he could never return from.”

Jabes snickered, “Don’t think I can’t see through your simpering flattery, rightfully placed though it is. However, I am beginning to like you, Guardian. You did well to overstep Zavala’s authority for the greater good.” Jabes turned back to Zavala who clearly didn’t appreciate the comment. Jabes kicked his feet up on the desk.

“Enough of the creature that was once Shaw Han, we have pressing matters to discuss. I was contracted to slay the Worm God Xol, and due to attrition in my fireteam,  _ of which I was not responsible _ , I am in need of a third man. Find me a specimen.”

Zavala pointed to Langston. “You, Hunter, were complicit in the ontological murder of Shaw Han. For this, I may burn in the fires of hell, but for those actions there is no more fitting punishment.”

Jabes snapped his fingers three times. “Zavala, less denigration. More vict— recruits.”

“That, Jabes. That new Guardian before you is your ‘specimen.’” Zavala said, his eyes narrowed as he pronounced karmic judgement upon Langston. 

The Hunter’s pupils dilated. Not from worry, but from pleasure. It was all over, before it even began. The wallet was his.


	4. Killing Gods, and a trip to Space Arby's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a mishap in the spaceport, Langston follows Jabes on a daring mission to kill Xol, Will of Thousands.

Amanda Holliday sat on her toolbox, face in her hands as she listened to the sirens and fire alarms around her. A trail of fuel extended from Hangar One all the way to the edge of the docking port. Flames emanated from the fluid as frames either crumpled in the fire or ran around in confusion, disoriented from the massive explosion.

_ How did this happen?  _ She thought as hours of work perished in the form of Guardians’ jumpships exploding in succession, each one taking it’s neighbor with it in a chain of carnage. A billion Glimmer falling in a morbid game of dominoes. She rubbed her injured leg -- the shockwave from the explosion had knocked her back and her knee was swollen.

_ Hundreds of hours. No, thousands of hours. This will take me and my team… a month? Two months?  _ She felt exhausted already. 

She tried to piece together the horrific accident as she wiped soot from her face. One of the ships in Hangar One hadn’t initiated launch procedures, that much was certain. It had taken the power couplings keeping it grounded, and half the fuel station with it. A good old fashioned gas-rip, but on a scale that could bankrupt dozens of Guardians in the Tower. She was sure the insurance payout would take years at best, and that was for those who  _ had _ insurance. Many of the Guardians parked here were rookies, just starting out with a loaner jumpship with nothing but a hope, a Ghost and a dream. They weren’t insured.

When push came to shove, and new Guardians were in debt, they had only one real option. High risk Hive missions. She’d seen it before. How many fresh faces down on their luck had left the spaceport, hitchhiking to the Moon, never to return?

She shuddered _.  _

_ Whatever MORON pulled that stunt just cost a lot of lives. _ She was shaking with anger, thinking about one Guardian in particular she’d taken a liking to. The new Hunter, his ship was in Hangar One. It was almost certainly a pile of ash.  _ He had so much potential _ . She teared up, thinking about the odd newbie, only a kid really, being devoured over and over again in a Hive nest in search of Glimmer to pay for a new ship. 

_ If we could find out who did this, maybe they could pay some of it off _ … There was a chance, just a chance, that the Guardian who ruined the spaceport was one of the high earners. The new Hunter might be able to seek remediation.

She limped over to the security cams, only to find the whole system shorted.  _ Dammit no! _ The fire had burned through the wiring, causing a surge of electricity that knocked down the whole server. There was almost no chance of recovering the footage. Holliday slammed her fist on the roasted terminal.  _ At least… at least I didn’t charge him for the repairs _ . It was the only thing that she could find solace in.   
…...

“WHAT IN THE TRAVELER’S NAME DID YOU JUST DO?!” The Ghost squealed, his eye shown red with rage as the bits of metal which composed his carapace spun.

“Whoops”. Langston said, as his ship floated dead in space, it’s fuel carriage and bilge were torn free. Parts trailed all the way back to the Tower on earth. He spanked the dashboard. “Work dammit!”

“THE WHOLE JUMPSHIP IS TOTALLED! NOT TO MENTION THAT FIREBALL BACK AT THE SPACEPORT! Holliday… I hope she’s ok.”

“Ugh… I’ll need to call Jabes for a tow, god this is embarrassing.”

“EMBARRASSING?!” The Ghost’s tiny roar bounced off Langston's helmet as if it were nothing but a kitten's mewl. 

Langston keyed the intercom.

“Glorious Fire Wolf, praise be his almighty name.” He said. A voice on the other end of the microphone slurped in satisfaction.

“It is I, what do you need, Examinee 1B?”

“There was a mishap, you know. My ship is a tad damaged—-”

“DESTROYED IS WHAT IT IS!” The Ghost yelled. 

Langston ignored the machine. “It wasn’t my fault.” Then fibs poured from his mouth before he could even think. They were perfectly designed for their target. Like a gift that could only have been given from a husband to a wife married sixty years or more. ”Peasants were involved. Back at the spaceport— ” 

“Say no more,” Jabes said. Langston smiled as Jabes unwrapped the present with palpable joy, ready to savor the sweet elitism the hunter had served him. “I am familiar with the underclass,” Jabes continued. “I will send Examinee 2 to rescue your becalmed vessel.” They heard Jabes intake a large breath.

“EXAMINEE 2!” He bellowed. 

“Yes, great and powerful Jabes.” The examinee’s voice could barely be heard over the microphone.

“You will tow your fellow’s jumpship to our destination. He has had the misfortune of coming into contact with the slum-folk”

“Yes, sire.” The Examinee’s voice conveyed no emotion. The words evoked the image of a man waiting at the gallows.

“Peasants you say...” Jabes asked Langston. “Was it a revolt? I’ve been warning Zavala about how much the poor like a good revolution. I told him of their fetish for the guillotine and the dangers of a growing middle class, but he would not listen. It’s clear that we should've acted preemptively. This is what I get for considering ‘human rights’ above my own instincts.” Another massive intake of breath. “KNIGHT COMMANDER SNOWBALL!”

“Yes Boss!” The long-island Ghost responded immediately.

“Send a note to members of the Fuzz clan, they will find details of the plan in the filing cabinet marked  _ Purge _ , under the folder marked  _ Phase 1 _ . They’ll want the documents  _ Instilling Fear, Well and Bread Poisoning for Beginners, _ and  _ Group Punishment _ for starters—” 

Langston’s Ghost panicked “No, No! It wasn’t a revolt, Langston forgot— OOF!” the Ghost was forcibly returned to his sock. Langston spun him, counterclockwise this time. He didn’t want his Ghost to find comfort in a pattern.

“A mass starvening then? Please let it be a famine!” Jabes said, heart in his throat. “What did you forget, Langston? To toss them their allotment of scraps?”

Ghost’s intervention forced Langston to pivot, but he did so before even his own brain could parse the words. “Yes. I accidentally ate the crust on my sandwich in front of them, one thing just led to another and well, here I am.”

“Ah, I see,” Jabes said. “A beginners mistake. Just as we are entitled to the poor’s belongings, their sense of dignity and their blood, so too are the poor entitled to our orange peels. It is the concept of Noblesse Oblige, our obligation as gods to provide the carrot.” He smiled, his voice massaged the words the way an exhibitionist would before cupping himself on a public trolley. “And the stick. If you are truly wise, the carrot can even be used _ as _ a stick.”

“I remember that Boss,” Knight Commander Snowball said over the radio, “that carrot knocked the cripple straight to the floor!”

“His cracking bones were like maracas of the heavens,” Jabes said in nostalgia. He continued, “I actually meant metaphorically, sweet Snowball. But yes, once you become the wisest of all, you too can convert metaphor directly into reality.” 

All the while Examinee 2 had coupled a tether to Langston's vessel and began accelerating them towards the red planet. Langston turned off the intercom, stopped swinging the sock around as he leaned back and twiddled a bobblehead he had made from the remains of Maeve’s Ghost. Langston was crafty, in both mind and with literal arts and crafts. He had not given all the Ghost’s pieces to the creature that once was Shaw Han. It looked loosely like Shaxx.

“That problem’s solved then,” he said, more to himself than his robotic companion. “Now we just need to get a new Jumpship.”

“That’s the least of our problems Langston,” The Ghost said after regaining its equilibrium. “We’ll never be able to pay for all the damages in the Tower. What will we even do?” The Ghost looked down worried.

“Not to worry my little mechanical….” Langston digested the next word, thinking carefully about it before speaking,

The Ghost perked up, waiting for him to finish the phrase.  _ Friend? Friend??? That’s what people normally say, right? Just say it! Just say Friend!!! _

_ “.... Lugnut.”  _

_Close enough!_ The Ghost squealed with joy internally. He now knew the value and utility of the humble lugnut. 

“We can’t pay for that destruction, god no. But Jabes can.”

“Oh god no please stop this.”

“All it takes is one swipe of the wallet.” Langston narrowed his eyes and steepled his fingers together. “And all our problems are solved.” He spun in his chair to face the Ghost. “And now, you’re roped in with me. You’re responsible, legally and morally.”

“How?!”

“You got me this ship, thumbtack. I would never have been able to destroy a spaceport if I was still stuck in the Cosmodrome.” The logic was twisting and corrupting. The Ghost knew this was not his fault, but at this point he was so confused. Everything Langston said was a half-truth. All buttered up strings of silvery words that wormed their way into your heart whilst striking like the back of a ring-hand. The Ghost felt guilt as the tendrils of ontological corruption wrapped themselves deeper into his psyche.

“Ok, the wallet.” The Ghost gulped.

“For the greater good,” Langston said.

“... For the greater good.” The time passed in near silence, only the random ‘twang’ of Langston’s bobblehead pierced the quiet. 

The microphone exploded in volume. “EXAMINEES! It has come to my attention that I am in need of vittles most tender!” Both Langston and the Ghost jumped. Langston noticed that Examinee 2 had started to turn their crafts around, he already knew where they needed to go. “There is only one place in the solar system which serves feasts that can  _ satisfy  _ me,” Jabes said.

Zavala, ever present and judgmental like a Mormom mother, called in over the intercoms “No, Jabes. This mission is time-sensitive. Rasputin’s core is already— “ Jabes silenced the intercoms across all of the spaceships. Langston saw earth slowly come back into view as they docked into a small space-station. 

And thus, they arrived at the only corporate remains of the Golden Age. The only business in continual operation since the earliest years of human space exploration. Jabes threw the children out of line with one hand and their parents yelped and ran to fetch them like dogs after a chew toy. Soon they were at the front of the line, as god intended. 

“Welcome to Space Arby’s, may I take your order?” Asked a scraggly robot, replete with a baseball cap that, in turn, had a logo of a cowboy hat on the center.

“Bring me the Ham and Swiss Melt, peasant frame. And a number 3.  _ Don’t forget the toy. _ ” Jabes said. In a thousand years, the Number 3 had never changed. It was a near constant in the universe, as humanity gained and lost super-technology, as they had acquired magic and began to fight gods, the Number 3 at Arby’s was the only facet of human culture left unchanged.

“I would like a number 1, with a Rootbeer.” Langston said. Examinee 2 ordered nothing. The taste of food had been lost with his sense of self a long time ago. 

“That’ll be 650 Glimmer, 20 Legendary Shards, 30 Helium Fragments, and 3 enhancement cores,.” the frame said.

Jabes turned to the two examinees. “PAY YOUR TITHES.”

Examinee 2 opened his inventory, although Langston narrowed his eyes. The Hunter cracked his knuckles and prepared to go to work. 

“Yes,  _ Examinee 2 _ , pay the tithe,.” He said. 

“And why must the simpleton pay for your order?” Jabes replied instead of the broken Gguardian. His hands were on his hips. The obvious answer was that Langston had no money. But saying so was unthinkable. Langston knew how to work people’s angles, and he knew what Jabes thought of the impoverished.

“You’re a savvy, financially capable man, correct?”

Jabes’ hands came from his hips and he crossed his arms, unsure if this was a challenge to his wealth. “Resources fill my pockets like ants fill Cabal corpses.”

“You would accept an alternative business model if it streamlined your prospects?”

“Of course, I welcome the new.” 

Langston was aware that this was a lie. Jabes was a man who did not cope well with change. But an appeal to his pride should make him willing to try new things.

“I present to you, a model of vertical integration.”

“Yes, vertical integration… I am very familiar,” Jabes had not heard the term before. Langston could tell, yet another point to his advantage. The order was already his. In the end it would not come from Jabes’ own pocket, and Langston doubted he cared about the second examinee’s finances. This was just a matter of framing.

“In a normal market, you vertically integrate businesses to streamline your supply chain. A coal mine would purchase a delivery company, and the overhead for delivery decreases.”

“Yes. Elementary.”

“To a man of your excellency, workers are of course not dissimilar from commodities, we are to be bought and traded at our market value.”

Jabes raised his little mechanical eyebrows, impressed. “An astute observation, it seems you have learned your place.”

“And the buying, trading, and consuming of your workers is a venture you engage in for profit, yes?”

“For profit  _ and _ pleasure.”

“Thus, your employees… no, your servants can be thought not only as commodities, but as business ventures themselves. In the same way that a wise, practiced entrepreneur vertically integrates his businesses, we should be integrated as well.”

Jabes tapped his foot, thinking, “I... see.” He did not. But he wasn’t about to admit it. “So your reluctance to pay is due to...?”

“Delegation. It’s clear that Examinee 2 is quite experienced in paying his tithes, and I am quite experienced in not paying my tithes. If Examinee 2 pays for both our tithes, then this is a more streamlined process. Afterall, your margins are not impacted, in fact, the time savings could net you big.”

“So by making Examinee 2 pay for your meal, it saves me money?”

“Indubitably. You wouldn’t want to have your delivery drivers contract black lung in the coal mine would you? It would impact -” Jabes zoned out, already satisfied with the thought of saving money in some obscure roundabout way he didn’t understand while at the same time grinding down what little will to live Examinee 2 had left into a fine snortable powder.

By this point Examinee 2 had already paid for the meals, and those waiting in line were becoming restless, though their bruised and wailing children reminded them to stay silent.

“Order’s up.”

Jabes rifled through the bags, and pulled a small cowboy hat from the children’s order. He summoned Knight Commander Snowball, and placed the small hat snuggly over his horned snowman frame.

“Adorable!” He squealed. If a machine could blush, then Snowball was blushing. Langston’s own Ghost watched with complete envy. He began to subconsciously run simulations of his own death, interspersed with simulations of how such a wonderful hat would feel on his own carapace.

Jabes checked his HUD.

“Ah, it is time we go, it appears that Zavala has called thirty three times in our quest for sustenance.” 

They arrived at the red planet in style. Langston’s ship could not power itself and fell from the atmosphere, tethered to poor Examinee 2’s spacecraft. The Examinee yelled over the intercom as he struggled with the controls, performing a miracle of pilotry which barely managed to save his life, but as a Guardian, most importantly, his ship. Langston had no working ship, and cared little for his life. 

So he jettisoned from the spacecraft tens of miles up in the sky and plummeted to the ground.

Far below the falling spacecrafts, and directly towards Langston's destination, a giant worm roared. As Langston fell, and he had quite a long time to fall, he heard someone he did not know over the intercoms as he burned and revived repeatedly in the atmosphere. 

“Xol is tearing apart Rasputin's Neural Network, and if he does enough damage, he could trigger a chain reaction that will devastate Mars. All I know is we have one advantage left… the Valkyrie.” She said. 

“Who is this clown?” Langston asked Jabes over the roaring wind.

“That clown is none other than Ana Bray, hero of the Twilight Gap and nanny of Rasputin. We call upon her when the machine becomes cranky.” The Fire Wolf said over the intercom.

“Who is Rasputin? Is it some form of cyber-baby?” Langston asked. It was clear to Jabes that this series of trivial questions would go on for quite some time. A full explanation would do nothing more than confuse the examinee’s simple, assuredly smooth brain.

“Not quite true, not quite false Examinee 1B. It would be best for your plebeian mind to think of Rasputin as a continent sized mechanical baby of the poorest disposition, and Ms. Bray as the one who must wipe him after he has shite himself.” 

Langston opened his mouth and barely got the words out as the wind whisked them away. “So we’re just paracausal toilet paper?” Jabes’ eye twitched far away in his own jumpship. “NO MORE QUESTIONS!” He seethed, making a mental note to kick Rasputin’s neural lace.  _ Toilet paper….  _ He ground his mechanical jaw together, realizing how apt the metaphor was. He needed to adjust the mental image in order to maintain his perceived status as god emperor. The thought of a roll of sandpaper in a bathroom stall. A cheese grater perhaps. Jabes smiled.

From high in the sky, Langston saw the whole facility shake, as if from an earthquake. Langston’s Ghost spoke up, worried. “Mars is geologically stable, that was no earthquake!”

Jabes replied over the coms. “You allow your Ghost to state the obvious, Langston? How very undisciplined of you.” 

Langston fumed, shamed again by his Ghost’s “autonomy”. He tried to spit in the little robot’s eye but the wind launched the gob back into his own face.

“Worry not, Thumbtack was it?” Jabes asked. 

“It’s not….” The Ghost murmured at the lowest possible volume.

“Never mind, your name too matters not. It is indeed no earthquake, but instead the roar of the Hive God Xol!” Jabes cackled. “He thinks to challenge me!  _ ME!  _ Jabes, the Fire Wolf, greatest Guardian of all time, throttler of peasants! I who killed Oryx, who in turn killed his God, the strongest of the Worms, Akka!”

“You tell em’ boss!” Snowball said. 

“And by the transitive property, this makes me Xol’s superior!” Xol roared again, and Jabes veered to park his ship a safe distance away from the God.

Langston hit the ground far from the designated landing zone   
The Ghost picked up his splattered remains and put them back together. Langston instinctively dusted himself off and leaned backwards to stretch. The Ghost stared at the sky and shivered. Towering over them, was Xol  _ Will of the Thousands. _

“Oh shoot.” The Ghost said. They weren’t getting out of this.

“Hold your horses examinee 1B! I don’t mind a little vigor in Fuzz clan candidates, but there’s an order to these things you know!” Jabes was zooming towards them on his sparrow, not worried for Langston's life, limb or sanity. He was simply upset that the well-structured order of his mission went haywire. 

Xol stared deep into Langston’s soul. Whatever it found there gave it pause, for Xol did not immediately destroy the Guardian. They stood off for but a moment, and then Langston raised his bow. It was merely a rare item drop. He quivered in pleasure as he stared at the giant Hive. He loved the Hive.

The sound of Examinee 2’s screaming filled the intercom and Langston’s Ghost noticed that the examinee was dangerously close to impacting the surface of Mars. Langston’s shaking arm steadied as the screaming calmed him. 

The Ghost began to panic, the spacecrafts were coming straight towards them! The Ghost watched the pair of intertwined ships dropping through the atmosphere.

Ghost called over the intercom. “We’re not on it! Save yourself!!”

At the last minute, Examinee 2 managed to decouple from the wrecked jumpship, and bumped down on the planet's surface, alive, the only casualty being a scratched paint job. 

“He wouldn’t detach the ship until… he would have died to save us.” The Ghost said.

“Death means nothing,” Langston responded.

He took careful aim, with his tongue slightly outside of his mouth, and fired.

The arrow of course did no damage to Xol. Although it was the weakest of the God Worms, Xol was still a deity. It would take tens of thousands, millions, of shots from this low light level Guardian to put the beast down.

Or one spaceship.

The remains of Langston’s craft rocketed towards Xol at hundreds of miles an hour, lagging behind Examinee 2’s ship by a hairsbreadth. The worm had no time to think before it was splattered on the platform like an earthworm stomped upon by a child after a rainy day.

The Hive God was dead. Langston raised his hands in the air, showboating. He swung his arms to an invisible crowd, signaling  _ the wave. _

“I… I can’t believe it.” The Ghost said. “You killed Xol. Three hundred light levels below cap. Your first Strike.” He was unsure how to feel. Relieved obviously. But the little Ghost had been through so much the past week, confusion, emotional torment, fear, more emotional torment, existential dread… but here he felt something warm, and full of light. It bubbled to the surface of his mechanical consciousness. Despite how little his Guardian  _ actually _ had to do with killing the god, it was a fact that within days of waking, Langston had  _ technically _ slain Xol. The feeling, unwarranted as it was, was  _ Pride _ .

Langston continued showboating, he pointed and laughed at the shredded carcass. 

“Amazing work Examinee 1B.” Jabes had finally made it to the platform and was dismounting his Sparrow. “Killing Hive gods is my specialty. I give you 8 points. 10 full points for killing it within thirty seconds of touchdown. Minus two points for causing a quick, painless death.” Jabes smiled. “But in time, you too will learn to slaughter with proper panache.” He turned to the second Examinee, who had also just stepped off his Sparrow. “Where were you, swine?”

The examinee stared at the wrecked ship that stuck out of Xol’s head, “I was wrangling the controls Sire, I nearly crashed and died. I would have lost everything… my Jumpship is all I have left.”

“Pure cowardice. Your fellow examinee held no regard for his own life or possessions, like a suitable pawn. If you truly deserved a rank amongst the Fuzz Clan Ubermensch, you would have plunged head first into the gaping maw to earn but a hint of praise, but as I suspected, once again you have earned only my contempt.”

The examinee tried to point to the enormous ship in the carcass, tears in his eyes, his last bit of sanity breaking, “But my liege I—”

“There is still work to do. Grunt work, which I’m beginning to doubt you can even handle.” He slapped the trainee, as he was wont to do. Jabes wiped his gauntlet on Langston’s shoulder. “Filthy.” The Fire Wolf grimaced.

“I can do it Sire! Believe in me, I’ve overcome so much pain!” It was the most emotion Langston had seen come from the Guardian. His fear of Jabes and last shred of dignity burned like a fire within him.

“Alright then, lesser Examinee. Purge the facility of the Hive.” Hive Thralls burst from the doorway leading to Rasputin. The examinee panicked, and as they approached, in his desperation he committed a capital sin. He asked Jabes a question.

“What heavy weapons should I equip, Hive, so... bring a sword right? What about close quarters optio— ”

Jabes leapt 8 meters in a single bound, hand outstretched and torqued his hips with such fury and power that when the back of his hand made contact with his target’s face, the poor lad spun to the ground like a professional ice skater.

“NO. QUESTIONS. You should already know the answers, like a true member of Fuzz!"

“... yes, Fire Wolf.” The Examinee said, as he marched slowly towards the enemy. It was like watching a beetle swarmed by ants. He began taking hits quickly, but the enemy around him also fell. Unfortunately it wasn’t long before he was covered in a pile of flailing or dead Hive. Langston could no longer see Examinee 2 amongst the flesh.

He looked upon the giant worm's corpse, no longer interested as the Examinee had stopped weeping and screaming.

“Shame.” Langston said, pointing to the smoldering craft. “Shaw Han gave me that ship you know, one of his only actions of human decency. ”

“Truly, the singular act of competence in a lifetime of intellectual squalor,” Jabes concurred.

“I nearly saved it from impact, but it turned out that nothing short of a miracle could save that ship from Examinee 2’s debilitating incompetence. I only managed to kill Xol through sheer talent and dogged determination.”

“Commendable indeed. Now if only your peer could match your prowess…” Jabes looked back at the other Guardian, who’d just finished killing the Hive. He’d heard what they said and had begun to hit his own head on the ground as his mind finally crumbled.

“Back into the facility! Rasputin isn’t going to save himself!”

The examinee crawled towards the darkness on his hands and knees.

Langston saw his opportunity and pounced. He organized a full presentation on meritocracy and the value of rewards in his head. “It’s too bad that I’m without a ship. Do you remember what I was talking about, vertical integration?”

“It’s yours my boy. Let’s be off.”

“You see, in order to conserve expenditure… wait, really?”

“Strip him of his keys.”

Langston skipped over to the Guardian, who had not made it far. He kicked him down to the floor, pinned him with a boot to the back and plucked the jangling trophy from his waistline. The examinee impotently reached for the keys to no avail. Whatever miniscule spec of sanity within him finally collapsed like a dying star. He’d lasted far longer than most ‘candidates’ Jabes oversaw.

Ana Bray came on the mic. “Finally! We’re mission critical! Where the HELL were you guys! If we overload Rasputin's core, we can use the excess energy to overcharge the— “

“Silence nanny woman,” Jabes said. “The deed is done, Xol is dead. I would take full credit, and I should, but I would be remiss not to mention that we have a promising new recruit! … And one more for the asylum.”

Examinee 2 hadn’t moved from the floor and foam dribbled from his mouth as his eyes stared at nothing. Zavala spoke up on the shared frequency.

“Dear god no… not again…”

Ana Bray screamed. “But… but the Valkyrie! And there are more Hive in the facility!”

“Are we the only Guardians on Mars, wench?! My men are tired! And we again require sustenance.”

Jabes cut off the frequency and dragged Examinee 2 by the ankle as he and Langston left the facility as heroes. “Next stop, The Jabes Fire Wolf Home for the Mentally Ruined!” He smiled. “We have a delivery to make.”


End file.
